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ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN 

NATIONAL NOITELS. 


MADAME THERESE; OR, THE VOLUNTEERS OF '92. 

THE CONSCRIPT. A Story of the French War of 1813. 

THE BLOCKADE OF PHALSBURG. An Episode of the 
End of the Empire. 

THE INVASION OF FRANCE IN 1814. 

WATERLOO. Sequel to "The Conscript of 1813.” 

THE PLEBISCITE; OR, A MILLER'S STORY OF THE 
WAR. By one of the 7,500,000 who Voted Yes. 


*t*Six vols., T2mo, cloth. Price, $1.25 each; 
$7.50 per set. 


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MY UNCLE KNELT DOWN 








NATIONAL NOFELS 


MADAME THERESE 

OR 

The Volunteers of ’92 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 


ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN 


ILLUSTRA TED 


NEW YORK 
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 
1889 


fz 3 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, 

By CHAELES SCRIBNER AND COMPANY, 

In the Clerk’s office of the District Court of the United States for the 
Southern District of New York. 


Copyright, 1889, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS. 


TROWS 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY| 
NEW YORK. 


INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 


The public interest at the present time in the classics 
of French hterature is sufficient, in the publishers’ 
opinion, to warrant the issue of a new edition of the 
National Novels of MM. Erckmann-Chatrian. These 
novels, indeed, belong to the comparatively small 
number of literary productions of first-rate importance 
in their special sphere which can yet be transferred 
from one language to another with entire adequacy. 
They lend themselves especially to the Enghsh idiom 
because their color is that of the borderland between 
things French and things German, and therefore 
often not unhke that of much Enghsh hterature com- 
parable with them. MM. Erckmann-Chatrian are 
still writing in as harmonious and effective concert as 
ever, and their long and felicitous coUaboration no 
longer has the interest of mystery which added a 
piquancy to their first success. Every one knows their 


4 


INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 


Alsatian origin, the peculiarly racy quality of both 
their style and the substance it clothes, their unique 
position in contemporary French literature, their 
long-continued, patient and finally triumphant strug- 
gle to obtain it. But the cycle of stories known as 
“Komans Nationaux,” is noteworthy in itself and of 
particular interest to the American public for other 
and more significant reasons than purely literary or 
romantic ones. 

The series of National Novels, indeed, is very much 
more than a series of simple and affecting tales with 
more form than German and more flavor than French 
stories of a similar sort. It comprises six chapters of 
famihar chronicle of the most valuable kind, concerned 
for the most part with one of the most interesting 
epochs of history — that of the French Bevolution 
and the First Empire. Each book describes public 
events of the first importance from the standpoint of 
an actor in them and, thus, together they give one a 
picture of the wars of the First Bepublic and of 
Napoleon of remarkable vividness and reality. But 
this again would not make the series as noteworthy 
as it is, if this were its sole or its main characteristic. 
The novels, in fact, are, further, so many historical 
pictures composed not at haphazard nor for their 
pictorial value alone, but in illustration of consistent 
and confirmed principles of political philosophy. 


INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 


In these novels at all events MM. Erckinann-Chat- 
rian are publicists as well as romancers. “ Madame 
Therese,” for example, preaches eloquently the ai'dent 
proselyting republicanism of 1793. “The Conscript ” 
shows the change in the popular feeling of Europe 
toward France, produced by the Napoleonic conquests, 
and in the popular feeling of France towards Napoleon 
by the constant state of warfare, the constant call for 
men and the consequent exhaustion of the country. 
“The Plebiscite” is a scorching exposure of the 
hollowness, corruption, and baseness of the policy 
responsible for the disasters of 1870-71. Each is not 
only a vivid picture, that is to say, but a picture with 
a pregnant moral. Taken as a whole the six novels 
form one of the most powerful and persuasive presen- 
tations that have ever been made of French republi- 
canism, eulogizing its early exaltation and denouncing 
with equal vigor its betrayal by the Bonapartes and 
the open antagonism of it by the Boui*bons. 

Both picture and lesson are especially effective 
because both are drawn from the standpoint as well 
as in the interest of the people rather than from that 
of the literary artist or the impersonal historian. 
Not only is the fictitious narrator in each case an eye- 
witness of the events he chronicles ; he is also a 
member of the class which sees the most of war and 
suffers most from it. In “ Madame Therese ” it is the 


G 


INTRODVGTORY NOTE. 


little Fritzel wlio describes the effect of the revolu- 
tionary rise of the people and the warlike prop^igan- 
dism of the gospel of liberty and fraternity. In “ The 
Conscript ” it is the jeweler’s lame apprentice w’ho tells 
the story of the ill-advised and ill-fated Russian expe- 
dition and of the subsequent disasters of the campaign 
of 1813. In “The Blockade of Phalsburg” it is the 
shrewd Jew wine-seller who narrates the hardships of 
the memorable siege. In “Waterloo,” the Conscript 
of two years before is again conscripted and relates 
the widespread discontent with the stupid rule of the 
restored Bourbons, the ill-treatment of the old sol- 
diers, the national enthusiasm over the return from 
Elba, the national depression on realizing that Napol- 
eon’s re-accession meant perpetual war, the dramatic 
events of the Hundred Days and their crowning 
catastrophe. In “The Plebiscite” it is a miller, the 
maire of his Alsatian village and a type of the millions 
oi petites gens deceived by the epigram “ the Empire 
is peace,” who describes the cynical policy of Napoleon 
in.’s later days and the terrible reverses that were 
the inevitable consequence of bad faith at home and 
ignorance of the situation abroad. We learn from 
each volume how the people felt, and what they 
thought, how they were affected — benefited, used, 
betrayed, in succession — by the great changes of the 
century since ’89. Historical archives, in consequence, 


INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 


7 


contain no more important historic testimony than 
this fiction, and the modern democratic spirit has no 
finer, no more rational and elevated expression than 
it obtains in these stories. 

On the other hand, their historic worth does not at 
all obscure the literary attractiveness of the National 
Novels. They are not only admirable contributions 
to familiar history of a most convincing and conclus- 
ive sense of reality ; nor are they merely besides 
this an eloquent exposition of the people’s gospel : 
they are, in the same rank with such other works of 
their authors as “Friend Fritz” and “The Pohsh 
Jew,” for example, literary masterpieces of a very high 
order. The depiction of character is very sympathetic 
and very telling. Each personage is evidently studied 
from the life, and illustrates a type rather than an 
exception. The color of each story is as dehghtfully 
harmonious as it is tenderly subdued. The sentiment 
— supplied doubtless by the German temperament 
of the authors in more generous measure and more 
winning way than are characteristic of most French 
literature of the kind — is quahfied and refined by then- 
French training and literary traditions, with the result 
of a very agreeable compromise. There are evidences 
on every page of a simplicity which springs from this 
sane and contained but still penetrating sentiment, 
aud which is an infallible mark of the truest hterary 


8 


INTRODVGTORY NOTE. 


distinction. Li a word, the novels are marked equally 
by heart and by taste. 

The narrative, moreover, is always admirably in 
character. The lucrative shrewdness of the sharp 
Hebrew speculator in “ The Blockade of Phalsbm’g ” 
is not dissembled ; the unheroic love of peace appears 
as prominent in the Conscript as his domesticity and 
industry. And, through a similar rectitude of literary 
conscience, there is a very noteworthy impartiality 
shown in places where one might reasonably expect 
in a “national novel” the bias of patriotism. The 
Conscript noting, for example, that the Prussians at 
Waterloo “kill without mercy,” immediately adds, 
“just as we did at Ligny”; and no opportunity is 
neglected of pointing out the reasonableness of the 
German, Austrian, and Cossack retahation in 1813-14 
for the French treatment of themselves during the 
years when they were the conquered. In fine, MM. 
Erckmann-Chatriarf liave more respect for theu’ art 
than disposition to appeal to the sensibility or the 
prejudice of their readers ; and the result, of course, 
is that in this way the effect is greatly heightened, 
and that both as literature and as history the absence 
of every meretricious element and the presence of an 
absolute candor cause the National Novels to take in 
their field the very highest rank. The present edition 
can but confer a public service in contributing to a 


INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 


0 


clearer public comprehension of a great movement by 
a great people, described in the sympathetic but 
impartial terms of literary artists of the first class. 


“Madame Ther^se ” begins the series, and is per- 
haps the most romantic. The scene is laid in a httle 
town of the Vosges which witnesses bloody conflicts 
between the Republican soldiers and the Croats and 
Cossacks of the Allies attacking France in 1793 in 
behalf of the restoration of the Bourbons. It is an 
extraordinarily vivid picture of the events and also of 
the popular feeling of the time. Nowhere is there a 
more striking presentation of the way in which what 
were then called “ the new ideas ” were disseminated 
not only thi*oughout France, but among the feudally 
oppressed of contiguous countries. Nor is there any- 
where else a more sympathetic account of how popular 
and universal was the enthusiasm which filled the 
French armies with volunteers and enabled Carnot to 
“organize victory.” Madame Therese herself is acan- 
tiniere of the Repubhcan cohorts, and her adventures 
are as entertaining from the personal and human 
point of view as the events among which they took 
place are historically interesting. 




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

I. — “My Uncle Knelt Down,” . . FrontmAece 

II. — “You HAVE NOT SEEN ANY AUSTIHANS NEAR 

HERE?” 30 

III. — Madame Therese, 42 

IV. — Dr. Jacob Wagner, 72 

V. — “So Mole-catcher, the Night has passed 

well,” 101 

VI.— “Shoulder Arms ! ” 129 

VII. — “It was our Friend Koffel,” . . 148 

VIII. — Karolus Richter and Joseph Spick, . 160 

IX. — “Madame TherIise had become very 

n 

) 


THOUGHTFUL 


200 


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MADAME THiRfeSE. 


I. 

We lived in profound quiet in the village of 
Anstatt, in the midst of the German Vosges, — 
my uncle, Dr. Jacob Wagner, his old servant 
Lisbeth, and L After the death of his sister 
Christine, Uncle Jacob had taken me to hve with 
him. I was neaiiy ten years old ; fair, fresh and 
rosy as a cherub. I used to wear a cotton cap, 
a httle brown velvet jacket made of a pair of my 
uncle’s old breeches, gray linen pantaloons, and 
wooden shoes adorned on the top by a tuft of 
wool. 

They called me httle Fritzel in the village, and 


14 


MADAME TBERESE. 


every evening when Uncle Jacob returned fi-orL 
his visits he used to take me on his knee, and 
teach me to read, in French, from Buffon’s Natimal 
History. 

It seems to me as if I were still in oui* low 
room, with its ceihng crossed by beams black- 
ened with smoke. I see on my left, the httle 
entry door and the oaken chest of drawers ; on 
the right, the alcove closed by a curtain of gi’een 
serge ; in the back part of the room, the en- 
trance to the kitchen, near the cast-iron stove, 
with heavy mouldings representing the twelve 
months of the year ; and toward the street the 
two httle windows, hung with vine leaves, that 
opened on the square of La Fontaine. 

I see my Uncle Jacob also, a slender man, 
his high forehead crowned with beautiful fair hair, 
which clustered gTacefuUy around his prominent 
temples, — his nose shghtly aquiline, his eyes 
blue, with a chm romrded, and lips tender and 
kind. He wears black frieze breeches, and a sky- 
blue coat with copper buttons. Seated in his 
leathern arm-chair, he is reading with his elbows 
on the table, and the sunlight makes the shadows 
of the vine leaves pFay upon his face, which is 
somewhat long, and tanned by exposure 


MADAME THERESE. 


16 


He was a kind-hearted man, and a lover of peace ; 
nearly forty years old, and considered the best phj*- 
sician in the neighborhood. I have learned since, 
that he busied himself a great deal in theorizing about 
universal brotherhood, and that the bundle of books 
which Fritz the carrier brought him from time to 
time treated of this important matter. 

All this I see, not forgetting Lisbeth, a good old 
dame, smihng and wrinkled, in a blue linen short 
gown and petticoat, who sits in a comer and 
spins ; nor do I forget the cat EoUer, who 
dreams, seated on her tail, behind the stove, her 
great yellow eyes opened in the gloom like an 
owl’s. 

It seems to me that I have only to cross the 
lane to shp into the orchard, with its dehcious 
fragrance ; only to climb the wooden staircase to 
reach my room where I let loose the tomtits that 
Hans Aden the shoemaker’s son, and I, had caught 
in snares. Some were blue and some were green. 
Little Eliza Meyer, the burgomaster’s daughter, 
often came to see them and to ask me about them. 
When Hans Aden, Ludwig, Frantz Sepel, KarJ 
Stenger and I led the cows and goats to pastm*e, 
on the Birkenwald hill, Ehza always pulled m^ 
jacket and said : 


16 MADAME THERESE. 

“Fritzel, let me lead your cow — dou’t send me 
off." 

And I would give her my whip, and we would 
make a fire on the turf and roast potatoes in the 
ashes. Oh, the good old times! How calm, how 
peaceful was everything around us! How regularly 
all went on ! Nothing disturbed our quiet Monday, 
Tuesday, Wednesday ; every day of the week 
passed exactly like every other day. 

Every day we rose at the same hour, dressed, 
and sat down to the good porridge prepared by 
Lisbeth. Then my uncle went away on horseback, 
and I went out to set traps and snares for the 
thrushes, spaiTows, or greenfinches, — according to 
the season. At noon we met again, and for dinner 
had bacon and cabbage and noudels or kncepfels. 
After dinner I went to the pasture to look after 
my traps, or to bathe in the Queich when it was 
warm. In the evening we had good appetites, and 
at the table thanked God for his goodness. 
Every day, when supper was nearly over, and 
it began to grow dark in the room, a heavy step 
crossed the passage, the door opened, and on thtj 
threshold appeared a short, thick, squarely-built, 
broad-shouldered man, wearing a large felt hats, 

“ Good evening, doctor." 


MADAME THERESE. 


17 


“ Be seated, mole-catcher/’ my uncle would reply. 

Lisbeth, open the kitchen door.” 

Lisbetli pushed open the door, and the red flame 
dancing On the hearth showed us the mole-catcher 
standing opposite the table, watching our supper 
with his httle gray eyes. He looked just hke a 
field-rat with his long nose, small mouth, retreating 
chin, straight ears, and thin, bristling, yellow mous- 
tache. His gray linen frock only reached partly 
down his bsick, and his great red waistcoat with deep 
pockets hung loosely over his hips. His immense 
shoes, covered with yellow earth, had large nails in 
them, which looked in front like shining claws all 
around his thick soles. 

He looked fifty years old; his hair was turning 
gray, his ruddy forehead was deeply wrinkled, and 
his eyebrows, white with streaks of yellow, hung 
over his eyes. 

He was always in the fields, setting his traps, oi 
at the door of his apiary on the hfil-side in the 
heath of the Birkenwald, with his wire mask and 
great linen mittens, and the broad sharp-edged 
spoon with which he took the honey from the 
hives. At the close of autumn he would leave the 
village for a month, his wallet on his back, a 
large pot of honey on one side, and on the other 


18 


MADAME THERESE, 


cakes of yellow wax which he sold to the clergy 
in the neighborhood, for their wax tapers. Such 
was the mole-catcher. 

After looking steadily at the table for a timo, 
he would say, “ There is cheese — and there are 
nuts.” 

“Yes,” my uncle would answer, “at your ser- 
vice.” 

“ Thanks ! I would rather smoke my pipe new.” 
Then he would draw from his pocket a black pipe 
with a copper hd and chain attached ; fiU it with 
care, — still looking at us, — go into the kitchen, take 
a burning coal in the hoUow of his hard hand, and 
place it on the tobacco. I see him, now, with his 
rat-hke face, his nose upturned, blowing great 
puffs before the gloomy fire-place, then coming 
back and seating himself in the shadow at the 
corner of the stove, with his legs crossed. Be- 
sides moles and bees, honey and wax, the mole- 
catcher had another serious occupation : — he pre- 
dicted the future by means of the flight of birds, 
the abundance of grasshoppers and caterpillars, 
and certain traditions inscribed in a large book 
with wooden covers which he had inherited from 
ail old aunt in Heming, and which informed him 
of future events. But he would not enter upon th« 


MADAME THERESE. 


IS 


subject unless Koffel were present, — Koffel the 
joiner, the turner, the watchmaker, the shearer ol 
do^s, and healer of animals ; — ^in short, the finest 
genius of Anstatt, and the neighborhood. Koffel 
was a Jack of aU trades. He wired broken crock- 
ery, tinned saucepans, repaired damaged furni- 
t^.ire, and even the organ, when the pipes or bel- 
lows were out of order ; and Uncle Jacob had been 
obhged to forbid his setting broken arms and legs, 
for he had also a talent for surgery, he thought. 
The mole-catcher admired him very much, sometimes 
saying, ‘‘What a shame that Koffel has not stu- 
died ! What a shame !” And all the gossips in 
the place thought him a universal genius. But 
all this did not “.make the pot boil,” and the siu- 
est of his resources after all was to cut cabbage 
for sour-krout in autumn, carrying his tool-chest 
on his back wallet-fashion, and crying from door 
to door, “Any cabbage? Any cabbage?” 

Such is the fate of genius. Koffel, diminutive, 
meagre, with his black beard and hair, and his 
sharp nose pointed like the beak of a teal, was 
not long in coming — his hands in the pockets 
of his httle short jacket, a cotton cap far back 
on his head, with the point between his shoul- 
ders, and his breeches and coarse blue stockings 


20 


MADAME THERESE. 


Bjiotted witli glue, hanging loosely on his lliii; 
wiry legs, his old shoes cut in several places tc 
make room for his bunions. He came in a feM 
minutes after the mole-catcher, and approaching 
the table with short steps, said gravely: 

“A good appetite to you, doctor.” 

“ Will you not share our meal with us ?*' 
asked my uncle. 

“ Many thanks. We had salad, to-night ; that 
is what I like best.” 

Saying this, Hoffel would seat himself behind 
the stove, and never stir until my uncle said, 
“Light the candle, Lisbeth, and take away the 
cloth.” 

Then he filled his pipe in his turn, and drew 
near the stove. * They talked of the weather, the 
crops, etc. The mole-catcher had set so many 
traps that day, had turned ofi:’ the water from 
such a meadow during the storm, or else he 
had taken so much honey from the hives ; the 
bees would soon swarm ; they were getting ready, 
and he was preparing beforehand baskets to re- 
ceive the young. 

Koffel was always pondering over some inven- 
tion ; he told of his clock without weights, fi’om 
V/hich the twelve apostles would come out at the 


MADAME THERESE. 


2i 


stroke of noon, wliile the cock crowed, and death 
mowed with his scythe ; or of his plough, which 
would go alone, wound up Hke a clock, or some 
other wonderful discovery. My uncle would hsten 
gravely, nodding his head in approval, but think'- 
ing meanwhile of his patients. In summer, tlie 
women of the neighborhood, seated on the stone 
bench under the open windows, chatted with Lis- 
beth about household matters. One had woven so 
many yards of linen in the whiter ; the hens of 
another had laid so many eggs that day, and so 
on. 

For myself, I seized a favorable moment to run 
off to Khpfel’s forge, ivhose fire shone far off’, at 
night, at the end of the village. There I always 
met Hans Aden, Frantz Sepel and several others. 
We watched the sparks flying from the heated iron 
under the strokes of the hammer ; we whistled 
to the sound of the anvil If a quiet old horse 
came to be shod, we helped to hold up his leg. 
Some of the older boys made themselves sick tr^fing 
to smoke walnut leaves. Others boasted of going 
every Sunday to the dance. These were fifteen 
or sixteen years old. They wore their hats on one 
side, and smoked with an important ah’, with their 
hands deep down in their pockets. At ten o’clock 


22 


MADAME THERESE. 

we separated, and everybody went home. Most 
days passed thus, but Mondays and Fridays, the 
Frankfort Gazette came, and then the gatherings 
at our house were large. Besides the mole-catcher 
and Koffel came our burgomaster Christian Meyer, 
and M. Karolus Eichter, the grandson of an old 
valet of Count Salm-Salm’s. None of these people 
would subscribe for the Gazette, but they liked to 
hear it read for nothing. 

How often since then I have called to mind the 
burly burgomaster, with his red ears, wearing a 
woolen jacket and cotton nightcap, sitting in the 
arm-chair — my uncle’s accustomed seat. He seemed 
to be thinking profoundly, but was really intent 
upon remembering the news to impart to his 
wife, the excellent Barbara, who ruled the parish 
in his name. And the great Karolus, a sort 
of grey-hound in hunting-coat and cap of boiled 
leather, the greatest usurer in the country, who 
looked down upon all the peasants' from the height 
of his grandeur because his gTandfather had been a 
lackey of Salm-Salm j who thought he did you a 
great favor in smoking your tobacco, and talked 
incessantly of parks and preserves, great hunts 
and the rights and privileges of my Lord Salm- 
Sahn. How many times have I seen him in mv 


MADAME THERkSE. 


23 


dreams, marcliing up and down our room, listening, 
frowning, suddenly plunging his hand into the gi'eat 
pocket of my uncle’s coat, for his tobacco, filling 
his pipe, and fighting it at the candle, saying, 
“By your leave.” All these things I see again. 

Poor Uncle Jacob! how good-natured he was to 
let his tobacco be smoked I But he paid no at- 
tention, apparently, so absorbed was he in the day’s 
news. The Republicans were invading the Palati- 
nate ; were descending the Rhine. They dared to 
defy the three Electors, King William of Prus- 
sia, and the Emperor Joseph. Their audacity 
astonished our circle. M. Richter said this state 
of things could not last ; these wicked beggars 
would be exterminated to the last man. When my 
uncle finished, he would make some judicious re- 
flection. As he refolded the paper he would say : 

“ Let us thank God that we five in the midst ol 
the forest rather than in the vineyards — on the 
bleak momitain rather than in the fertile plain. 
These Republicans can hope for no plunder here 
this is our security. We can sleep in peace. But 
how many are exposed to their ravages ! They do 
everything by force ; but no good ever comes of 
force. They talk to us of love, equality and lib- 
erty, but they do not apply these principles. Thej 


24 


MADAME THERESE. 


trust to their arms, and not to the justice of theil 
cause. Long ago, before their time, others came 
to dehver the world. They struck no blows, they 
took no lives, they died by thousands, and their 
symbol in all succeeding ages has been the lamb, 
devoured by wolves. One would think that not 
even a single memorial of these men would remain. 
Well, they conquered the world ; they conquered 
not the body, but the soul of man. And the soul 
is alL \^Tiy do not these men follow their exam- 
ple?” 

Karolus Kichter immediately rejoined, with a 
contemptuous air : 

“Why? because they laugh at souls and envj' 
the powerful of the earth. And besides, these Ke- 
pubheans are atheists, every man of them. They 
respect neither throne nor altar. They have over- 
turned the estabhshed order of things from the 
beguming of time. They will have no more nobil- 
ity ; as if the nobihty were not the very essence 
of things on earth and in heaven ; as if it w(ug 
not acknowledged by mankind that some were 
born to be slaves and others to be rulers ; as ii 
we did not see this order estabhshed even in na- 
ture. The mosses are beneath the grass, the grass 
beneath the bushes, the bushes beneath the trees. 


MADAME THERESE. 


25 


and tlie trees beneath the starry sky. Just so are 
the peasants under the merchants, tiie merchants 
under the gownsmen, the gownsmen under the 
military nobles, the military nobles under the king, 
the king under the pope, represented by his car- 
dinals, archbishops, and bishops. This is the 
natural order of things. A thistle can never grow 
to the height of an oak ; a peasant can nQver 
wield the sword like the descendant of an illus- 
trious race of warriors. These Republicans have 
obtained transient success, because they have siu- 
prised everybody by their incredible audacity and 
their want of common sense. In denying all doc- 
trines and aU acknowledged rules, they have stupe- 
fied reasonable men — hence these disorders. Just 
as sometimes an ox or a bull stops suddenly, then 
flies at the sight of a rat which unexpectedly comes 
up from the ground before him, so are our soldiers 
astounded and even put to flight by such auda- 
city. But this cannot last, and after the first 
surprise is over, I am very sure that our old 
generals of the Seven Years War will defeat ut- 
terly this disorderly crowd of wretches, and that 
not one of them will return to his unfortunate 
countr^^” 

Having said this, M. Karolus relighted his pipe, 

2 


26 


MA VAME THER&SR 


and continued liis walk up and down with long 
strides, his hands behind him, and a self-satis- 
tied air. 

All reflected upon what they had just heard 
and the mole-catcher finally spoke in his turn. 

“All that ought to happen, happens,” said he. 
“ Since these Kepublicans have driven away their 
lords and their priests, it was so ordained in 
heaven from the beginning of time ; ‘ God willed 
it.’ Now, whether they return or not depends 
upon what the Lord God wills. If He chooses 
to raise the dead, that depends on Him alone. 
But last year, as I watched my bees working, I 
saw, all of a sudden, these little gentle and pretty 
creatures fall upon the drones, sting them and 
drag them out of the hive. These drones pro- 
duce the young, and the bees keep them so 
long as the hive needs them, but then they kill 
them. It is abominable ; but nevertheless it is 
written ! Seeing this, I thought of these Kepub- 
’hcans. They are disposed to kill their drones 
but be tranquil ; we can’t live without them 
others will come. They must be feathered and 
fed anew ; after that the bees will get angry 
again, and kill them by hundreds. We think 
they are exterminated, but more will come, and 


MADAME THERESE, 


27 


BO it goes on. It must be so ! It must be 
so !” 

Then the mole-catcher shook his head, and M 
Karolus, stopping in the midst of his walk, 
cried : 

“Whom do you call di'ones? The true drones 
are the conceited reptiles, who beheve themselves 
capable of anythmg, and not the nobles and 
priests” 

“ Begging your pardon, M. Eichter,” replied 
the mole-catcher, “ the drones are those who 
wish to do nothing and to enjoy everything ; 
those who, without rendermg any service except 
buzzing around the queen, wish to be generous- 
ly provided for. They are cared for, but at 
last, it is written, they must be cast out. It 
has happened thousands of times and it must 
happen always. The working bees, orderly and 
economical, cannot support creatures that are 
good for nothing. It is unfortunate — it is sad. 
But so it is. When we make honey we like tc 
keep it for ourselves.” 

“ You are a Jacobin !” cried Karolus, angrily. 

“ No, on the contrary, I am a merchant of 
Anstatt, a mole-catcher and raiser of bees. I 
love my country as well as you. I would sacri- 


28 


MADAME THERESE, 


fiee myself for her, perhaps, sooner than 3*014 
would. But I am forced to say that the true 
drones are those who do nothing, and the 
true bees those who work, for I have seen it a 
liimdi’ed times.” 

“ Ah,” cried Karolus Richter, “ I wager that 
Koffel has the same ideas as you !” 

Then the httle joiner, who had said nothing, 
rephed, winkmg one eye : 

“ M. Karolus, if I had the happiness of bemg 
the grandson of a servant of Yeri-Peter or 
Salm-Sahn, and if I had inherited great wealth 
which would support me in abundance and idle- 
ness, then I should say that the drone^ are the 
workers, and the bees the lazy ones. But, 
situated as I -am, I have need of everybody’s 
help, and so I say nothing. I am silent. Only 
I think that every one ought to have what he 
earns by his labor.” 

“ My dear friends,” said my uncle, gi’avely, 
“ we will not speak of these things, for we cannot 
understand them. Peace ! peace ! that is what 
we must have. It is peace that makes men 
prosper, and puts them aU in their true place. 
In war bad instincts prevail ; murder, rapine 
and the rest. Besides, aU men who lead bad 


MADAME THERESE. 

lives love war ; it is the only way they can ap- 
pear to be anything. In time of peace, they 
would be nothing ; we would see too easily 
through their thoughts, their tricks and their de - 
sires. IMan has been created by God for peace 
for labor, the love of his family, and the like. 
But smce war opposes all these it is truly a scourge. 
The clock has struck ten ; we could discuss the 
subject until to-morrow mommg without imder 
standing it better. I propose, therefore, that we 
go to bed.” 

Then everybody rose, and the burgomaster, 
placing his two great hands on the arm of his 
chair, cried : 

“ God grant that neither the Kepubhcans, nor 
Prussians, nor Imperiahsts pass through here, for 
they are all hungiy and thirsty. And as it is 
more agreeable to drink our own wine than to 
see it swallowed by others, I would rather learn 
these things from the papers than see them with 
my own eyes. That is what I think.” 

With this remark, he moved toward the doorj 
the others followed. 

“ Good-night,” said my uncle. 

Good-night,” rephed the mole-catcher, disap* 
pearing in the dark street. 



30 


MADAME THERESE. 


The door was closed, and my careful uncle 
said to me : 

“ Go to bed, Fritzel. Pleasant dreams.” 

“And you, too, uncle,” I answered. 

Lisbeth and I mounted the staircase. A quar- 
ter of an hour afterwards perfect silence reigned 
in the house. 


il. 

One Fnday evening, in the month of November, 
1793, Lisbeth, after supper, was kneading the 
dough to make bread for the household, as 
usual. As it was to be used for cakes and ap- 
ple-pies also, I kept near her in the kitchen, and 
as I watched her, gave myself up to the pleas- 
antest dreams. When the dough was kneaded 
yeast was added, the kneading-trough care- 
fully scraped, and a thick covering was spread 
over it, to let it ferment. Then Lisbeth scat- 
tered blazing coals from the hearth inside the * 
oven, and pushed into it with the poker three 
great diy fagots, which soon began to blaze 
under the dark vaulted roof. Finally, when the 
Qre was lighted, she closed the door of the oven 
and turned to me ; 


82 


MADAME THERESE. 


“ Now, Fritzel, let us go to bed ; to-morrow, 
when you wake up, there will be a pie for 
you.” 

We went up to our rooms. Uncle Jacob had 
been snoring for an hour in his alcove. I went 
to bed thinking of pies and cakes, and fell sound 
asleep immediately. I had slept for some hours, 
but it was still night, and the moon was shin- 
ing brightly into my httle window, when I was 
aroused by a strange tumult. It seemed as if 
the whole village were in commotion ; doors 
were slamming in the distance ; many footsteps 
were splashing through the muddy pools of the 
street ; and I heard, too, people moving about in 
our house, and saw the purple reflection of hghts 
on my window-panes. My alarm may be imag- 
ined. After hstening awhile, I got quietly up, 
and opened a window. The street was full of 
people, and not only the street but the garden, 
and by-streets. I saw only large men with im- 
mense cocked hats, long blue coats with red 
facings, wide white belts, and large queues hang- 
ing down their backs, carrying sabres and car- 
tridge-boxes, which I had never seen before. 
They had stacked their guns before our barn. 
Two sentinels guarded them. The others had 


33 


MABAME THEEESE. 

already made themselves at home in the houseai 
In the stable three horses pawed the ground. 
Before Sepel’s butcher shop, across the way, from 
the hooks in the wall on which calves were hung 
to be skinned, a whole ox was hanging, — ^his head 
and back dragging .on the ground, — in the blaze of 
a great fire which lighted up the square. A man 
with his shirt-sleeves rolled up over his brawny 
arms was skinning him. He had cut him entirely 
open, and the blood was running and mixing with 
the mire of the street. The face of this man, with 
his bare throat and unkempt hair, was terrible to 
see. 

I understood at once that the Kepubhcans had 
unexpectedly entered the village, and w'hile I was 
dressing I invoked the aid of the Emperor 
Joseph, of whom M. Karolus Kichter so often 
spoke. The French had arrived during our first 
sleep, at least two hours before ; for as I went 
down stairs I saw three of them, in their shirt- 
sleeves, like the butcher, taking the bread from 
oui’ oven with the shovel. They had spared 
Lisbeth the trouble of baking, as their compan- 
ions had spared Sepel the trouble of butchtring. 
These men could do anything. Nothing embar- 
rassed them. Lisbeth, seated in a comer, her 
2 * 


34 


MADAME THERESE. 


bauds crossed on her knees, watched them quite 
peacefully. Her first terror was over. Seeing 
me at the head of the stairs, she called out : 

“Fritzel. come down. They will not hurt 
you.” 

Then I went down, and the men kept at their 
work without noticing me. The passage-door on 
the left was open, and I saw two more Repub- 
hcans in the orchard mixing dough for a sec- 
ond or third batch of bread. Through the half- 
open door of the sitting-room, on the right, I 
saw Uncle Jacob sitting at the table, whdo a 
robust man, with large red whiskers, pug nose, 
projecting eyebrows, ears standing out from his 
head, and a tow-colored wig hanging down his 
back in a queue as thick as one’s arm, was in- 
stalled in the arm-chair, devouring one of our 
hams with evident rehsh. I could see his strong 
brown hands plying the knife and fork, and his 
muscular jaws moving. From time to time he 
raised his glass, took a good draught, and went 
on. 

He wore lead-colored epaulettes, a large sabre, 
in a leathern sheath, whose guard rose })ehind 
liis elbow, and boots which were hardly visible 
for the yellow mud which was beginning to dry 


MADAME THERESE. 35 

upon them. From his hat on the sideboard, 
drooped red plumes which waved in the wind , 
for notwithstanding the cold, the windows were 
wide open. An armed sentinel paced up and 
down before them, stopping occasionally to glance 
at the table. 

While carving the ham the man with large 
whiskers spoke roughly to my uncle. 

“So you are a physician?” 

“Yes, monsieur le commandant.’* 

“Call me simply colonel, or citizen colonel. I 
have akeady told you that ^monsieur’ and ^ma~ 
dame’ are out of fashion. But to return to our 
subject. You ought to know the country ; a 
country physician is always on the road. How 
far are we from Kaiserslautern?” 

“ Seven leagues, Colonel.” 

“ And from Pirmasens ?” 

“ About eight.” 

“And from Landau?” 

“Five good leagues, I beheve.” 

“ ‘ I beheve ’ — ‘ nearly ’ — ‘ about ’ — ^is it thus a 
native of the country ought to speak ? Listen : 
you look as if you were afraid. You are afraid 
that if the white coats should come this way, 
they would hang you for the information yon 


86 MADAMJ£ THjEeA'6^K 

give us. You may put that idea out of youi 
head ; you are imder the protection of the French 
Kepubhc.” And looking Uncle Jacob in the face 
with his gray eyes : “ To the health of the Ee- 

pubhc, one and indivisible!” he cried, lifting his 
glass. 

They touched glasses, and my uncle, very pale, 
di’ank to the Eepublic. 

“How is it,” said the other, “you have not 
seen any Austrians near here?” 

“No, Colonel.” 

“Are you very sure of it? Look me straight 
in the face.” 

“I have not seen any.” 

“Did you not make a journey to Eeethal, 
lately?” 

My uncle had been to Eeethal three days be- 
fore. He thought that some one in the village 
had told the Colonel, and answered, 

“Yes, Colonel.” 

“ So ; and were there no Austrians there ?” 

“No.” 

The Eepubhcan emptied his glass, casting a side^ 
long glance at Uncle Jacob ; then stretched out 
his arm, and took him by the wnist, with a 
strange expression. 



? ” 


“YOU HAVE NOT SEEN ANY AUSTRIANS NEAR HERE 




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3 ? 


“You say there were none?” 

“ Yes, Colonel.” 

“Well, you he, then!” and in a slow voice he 
added : “ We do not hang, but sometimes we 

shoot those who deceive us!” 

My uncle’s face became still paler, but he held 
up his head, and repeated in a firm tone : 

“Colonel, I swear to you on my honor that 
there were no Imperiahsts at Reethal three days 
ago.” 

“And I,” cried the Repubhcan, his small gray 
eyes flashing under their thick, tawny brows, 
“I tell you that they were there! Is that plain?” 

There was a silence. AU in the kitchen had 
turned round ; the Colonel’s • manner was not 
reassuring. I began to cry, and even went into 
the room, as if I could help Uncle Jacob, and 
placed myself behind him. The Republican looked 
at us, frowningly, which did not prevent him from 
swallowing another mouthful of ham, as if to 
give himself time for thought. Outside, Lisbeth 
sobbed aloud. 

“Colonel,” said my imcle, firmly, “perhaps you 
do not know that there are two Reethals, one 
on the road to Kaiserslautern, and the other on 
the Queich, three short leagues from Landau : 


MADAME THERijSE. 


tlie Austrians may have been at the lower one, 
but at the other, they had not been seen Wed- 
nesday evening.” 

“So!” said the Commandant, in bad Lorraine 
German, with a jeering smile, “ that may be. 
But we from the coimtry between Bitche and 
Sarreguemines, are as knowing as you. Unless 
you can prove to me that there are two Beethals, 
I will tell you that it is my duty to have you 
arrested, and tried by a court-martial.” 

“Colonel,” cried my uncle, stretching out his 
arm, “the proof that there are two Beethals is 
that they are to be found on all the maps of 
the country.” 

He pointed to our old map, hanging on the 
wall. The Bepublican turned round, and looking 
at it, said : 

“Ah, it is a map of the country! Let us ex- 
amine it a little.” 

My uncle took the map down, and spreading 
it on the table, showed him the two villages. 

“It is true,” said the Colonel. “ WeU and good ; 
f ask nothing better than to see a thing plainly.” 

He leaned his elbows on the table, and with 
his large l^a4 between his hands, looked at the 
map. 


MADAME THEEESE. 


39 


Hold, hold ! tills is famous !’* he said j “ wliero 
did this map come from?” 

“My father made it. He was a mathemati- 
cian.” 

The Repubhean smiled. 

“ Yes ; the woods, the rivers, the roads, all are 
marked,” said he. “I recognize that we passed 
that place — it is good — very good !” Then straight- 
ening himself up : “ You have no use for this 
map, citizen doctor,” said he in German. “I need 
it, and I put it in requisition for the service of 
the Republic. Well, well, I beg your pardon. 
Let us have one drink more in honor of the 
Republic.” 

We can imagine with what eagerness Lisbeth 
went down into the cellar to find another bot- 
tle. Uncle Jacob had recovered his confidence. 
The Colonel, looking at me, asked : 

“Is that your son?” 

“No, he is my nephew.” 

“ A well-built httle fellow. It pleased me to 
see him come in just now to your aid. Como 
here, close,” he said, drawing me to him by the 
arm. He passed his hand through my hair, and 
said, in a voice a little harsh, but kindly : “ Bring 
up this boy in the love of the rights of man 


40 


MADAME THERESE. 

Instead of taking caro of cows, tie may become 
colonel, or general, as well as anybody else. Now 
all the doors are open ; any position can be 
taken. One need only have heart and luck to 
succeed. I, such as you see me, am the son of 
a blacksmith of Sarreguemines ; but for the Re- 
pubhc, I should still hammer the anvil ; our great 
lanky fellow of a count, who is with the white 
coats, would be an eagle by the grace of God, 
and I should be an ass. Instead of this, it is 
all the other way, thanks to the Revolution.” 

He emptied his glass brusquely, and half shut- 
ting his eyes with a crafty expression, added : 

“That makes a httle difference.” 

On the table, beside the ham, was one of our 
short-cakes which the Repubhcans had baked with 
the first batch of bread. He cut a piece for me, 
and said, very good-humoredly, 

“ Eat this boldly and try to become a man. Then 
turning toward the kitchen, “ Sergeant Lafleche ! ” 
roared he, in a voice of thunder. 

An old sergeant with gray moustaches, dry as 
a salt herring, appeared in the doorway. 

“ How many loaves. Sergeant ?” 

“Forty.” 

“ In an hour we must have fifty ; with our 


MADAME THERESE. 


41 




ten ovens, five hundred, — three pounds of bread 
for each man.” 

The Sergeant went back to the kitchen. My 
Tincle and I observed all this without moving. 
The Colonel again bent over the map, his head 
between his hands. Day began to dawn. The 
armed sentinel was stiU pacing up and down 
before our windows. Silence prevailed. Many of 
the soldiers were sleeping, their heads on their 
knapsacks, around the large fires which they had 
kindled ; others were in the houses. The clock 
ticked slowly ; the fire stih sparkled in the kitchen. 
But in a few moments, a great noise arose in 
the street ; window-panes crashed ; a door was 
thrown open noisily, and we heard our neighbor, 
Joseph Spick, cry, “To the rescue! Fire!” But 
no one stirred in the village. AU were glad to 
remain quietly in their own houses. The Colonel 
listened. 

“ Sergeant Lafleche 1” cried he. The Sergeant 
had gone to see what the matter was. He came 
back in a moment. “What has happened?” asked 
the Colonel. 

“It is an aristocrat of an inn-keeper, who re- 
fuses to comply with the requisitions of the 
citizen Therese,” replied he, gravely. 


42 


MADAME THERESE. 


“Very well! bring him to me.” 

The Sergeant went out. In a few minutes oui 
Lane was full of people. The door reopened, and 
Joseph Spick, in a short jacket, loose hnen panta- 
loons, and a cap of curled wool, appeared between 
four armed soldiers of the Repubhc, with faces 
yellow as gingerbread, worn-out hats, ragged elbows, 
patched knees, and torn shoes, mended with twine ; 
all of which did not, however, prevent their hold- 
ing up their heads high, as proud as kings. 
Joseph Spick,* his hands in his pockets, shoulders 
bent, mouth open, and quaking cheeks, trembled 
so that he could hardly stand on his long legs. 
He seemed bewildered. Behind him, in the shadow, 
the head of a woman, pale and thin, at once 
attracted my attention. She had a high forehead, 
straight nose, long chin, and blue-black hair, 
which drooped in large bands over her temples, 
and was braided behind the ears, so that her 
face seemed extremely long. Her eyes were large, 
and black. She wore a felt hat with the tri- 
color cockade, and over it a red handkerchief 
knotted under the chin. As I had seen, in our 
country, only blondes or brunettes, this woman filled 
me with astonishment and admiration. Young as 
I was, I looked at her amazed. My uncle ap- 












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43 


peared no less astonished than I, and after she had 
come in, followed by five or six other Repubhcans, 
dressed Hke the first, we could not take our eyes 
off of her. 

She wore a large cloak of blue cloth, with 
a triple cape faUing to the elbows, a little 
cask, which was hung over her shoulder, and 
around her neck a thick black silk cravat, with 
long fringe — doubtless some spoil of Avar — ^which 
heightened still more the beauty of her calm, 
proud face. 

The Colonel - waited until all had come in, 
looking closely at Joseph Spick, who seemed more 
dead than alive. Then turning to the ‘ woman, 
who had just raised her hat, with a movement 
of the head, said : 

“Well, Therese, what has happened?” 

“You know. Colonel, that at the last halting- 
place I had not another drop of brandy,” said 
she, in a firm, clear voice. “My first care on 
arriATUg here, was to go through the village to 
find some, intending to pay for it, of course. 
But the people hid it all, and it was not until 
half an hour ago that I saw the fir-branch on 
this man’s door. Corporal Merlot, Private Cin- 
cinnatus, and Drum-major Horatius Codes fol 


44 


MADAME THERESE. 


lowed, to help me. We went in and asked for 
Anne, brandy, or anything of the kind ; but the 
aristocrat had nothmg ; he was deaf. Then we 
searched the place, and at last found the entrance 
to the cellar, in the wood-house, concealed by a 
pile of fagots. We might have quarreled with 
him ; instead of that, we went down, and found 
wine, bacon, sour-krout, and brandy. We filled 
our casks, took some bacon, and came up quietly. 
But seeing us return thus laden, this man, who 
was seated tranquilly in his room, began to cry 
for help, and instead of accepting my money, 
tore it up, and seizing me by the arm, shook 
me with all his strength. Cincinnatus put his 
load on the table, and taking this great fool by 
the coUar, threw him against the window of his 
old house. Then Sergeant Lafleche arrived. That 
is aU, Colonel.” 

When she had finished, she withdrew behind 
the others, and immediately a little dry man, 
thin and brusque, whose hat was on one side, 
and who held under his arm a long cane with 
a copper knob, shaped like an onion, came for- 
ward, and said, pompously : 

“Colonel, what Citizen Therese has just com- 
municated is an expression of the indignation 


MADAME THERESE, 


45 


wliicli one naturally feels at coming in contact 
with a senseless aristocrat who thinks” 

“Very well,” interrupted the Commandant, “the 
word of Citizen Therese is sufficient.” And 
addressing Joseph Spick in German, he said, 
frowningly : “ Tell me, do you wish to be shot ? 
It wiU cost only the trouble of leading you into 
your garden. Do you not know that the paper 
of the Bepubhc is worth more than the gold of 
tyrants ? Listen ; this time I wiU pardon you, in 
consideration of your ignorance ; but if it happens 
that you again conceal your provisions, and refuse 
to accept our money in payment, I will have you 
shot in the village square to servn as an example 
to others. Go, thenl march, you great idiot!” 

He delivered this little harangue very emphati- 
cally. Then turning to the cantiniere, said, 

“ Well, Therese, you can fill your cask ; this 
man vdU make no further objections. And you, 
soldiers, release him.” 

They all went out. Therese first, Joseph last. 
The poor devil had hardly a drop of blood left 
in his veins. He had just had a narrow es- 
cape. 

Meanwhile, dayhght had come. The Colonel 
rose, folded the map, and put it into his pocket 


46 


MABAME THERESE. 


Then he went to a window and looked out on 
the village. My uncle and I looked from the 
other window. It was about five o’clock in the 
morning. 


III. 

As long as I live I shall remember that silent 
street, filled with sleeping men ; some stretched 
out, some coiled u]3, their heads resting on their 
knapsacks. I can still see those muddy feet, those 
worn-out shoes, and patched coats, those young 
faces, tinged with brown, and rigid old faces, with 
closed eyelids ; the large hats, faded epaulettes, the 
cockades, the woolen blankets with ragged red 
borders, the gray cloaks, and the straw scattered 
in the mud. Then the great silence of their sleep 
after the forced march — this absolute repose like 
death. All was enveloped in the bluish hght of 
early morning ; the pale sun, rising in a fog, shed 
but a sickly hght over the little houses with their 
large thatched roofs, and small black windows. In 
the distance, at both ends of the village, on the 
Altenberg, and the Eeepockel, above the orchards 


4S 


MADAME THERkSE, 


and hemp-fields, the sentinels’ bayonets gleamed 
among the fading stars. No, I shall never forget 
that strange spectacle. I was very young then, 
but such memories are eternal. 

As the day advanced, the picture became ani- 
mated. One man raised his head, leaned on his 
elbow, and looked round ; then yawned, and went 
to sleep again. Then an old soldier suddenly 
straightened himself, shook the straw from his 
clothes, adjusted his felt hat, and folded his ragged 
blanket ; another rolled up his cloak and buckled 
it on his knapsack ; a third drew from his pocket 
the stump of a pipe, and struck a light. The early 
risers had gathered together, and were talking, and 
the others joined them, stamping their feet, for it 
was cold at that hour, and the fires which had 
been lighted in the streets and on the Common 
had gone out. 

Opposite our house, on the little square, was 
the fountain. Some of the Kepubheans were col- 
lected around two large moss-covered troughs, 
washing themselves, laughing, and chatting pleas- 
antly, notwithstanding the cold ; others were 
stooping down, drinking with upturned mouths 
from the pump. 

Then the houses were opened, one by one, and 


49 


MADAME THERESE. 

WO saw soldiers coming out from them, stooping 
so as not to strike their heads against the low 
doorways. Nearly all had their pipes Hghted. 

To the right of our barn, before Spick’s inn, 
was stationed the caiUiniere’s cart, covered with a 
large cloth. It had two wheels, like a hand- 
barrow, the shafts lying on the gTound. 

The mule was behind, covered with an old 
woolen horse-blanket of red and blue check, and 
had drawn from our stall a long wisp of hay, 
which he chewed gravely with half-closed eyes and 
a sentimental air. 

The cantinik'e was seated at the window mend- 
ing a little pair of pantaloons, and throwing a 
glance from time to time at the shed, where 
the drum-major, Horatius Codes, Cincinnatus, 
Merlot, and a tall, thin, dry, jovial fellow, were 
seated astride bundles of hay, making each other’s 
queues. They combed out the braids, and 
smoothed them by spitting on their hands. 

Horatius Codes, who was the head of the 
band, was humming an air, and his comrades re- 
peated the refrain. 

Near them against two old casks slept a lit- 
tle drummer, about twelve years old, as fair as 
myself, who interested me particularly. It was he 


50 


MADAME THERijSE. 


wliom the tantiniere was watching, and doubtless 
they were his pantaloons that she was mending. 
He was stretched out, his face upturned, his 
mouth half-opened, his back against the two 
casks and one arm over his drum. His drum- 
sticks were shpped into his shoulder-belt, and on 
his feet, covered with straw, was stretched out a 
large, and very dirty spaniel, which kept him warm. 
Every moment this dog raised his head and looked 
at the boy, as if to say : 

“ I should hke very much to take a tour 
among the kitchens of the village !” 

But the httle one did not stir, he slept so 
soundly! When some dogs barked in the dis- 
tance the spaniel gaped. He would have liked to 
be one of the party. 

Soon two officers came out of a neighboring 
house ; two slender young men in tightly-fitting 
coats. As they passed the house, the Colonel 
cried : 

“ Duchene 1 Eicher I” 

“ Good-morning, Colonel,” said they, turning 
back. 

“Are the posts relieved?” 

“Yes, Colonel.” 

“ Nothing new ?” 


MADAME THERESE. 


51 


“ Notliing, Colonel.” 

“ In half an hour we begin our march. 
Sound the caU, Richer. Come in, Duchene.” 

One of the officers went in. The other passed 
into the shed and said something to Horatius 
Codes. I looked at the new-comer. The Colo- 
nel had ordered a bottle of orandy. They were 
drinking together, when a hum was heard out- 
side. It was the drum-beat. I ran to see what 
was going on. Horatius Codes, at the head of 
five drummers — among whom, on the left, was 
the httle boy — raising his baton, initiated th3 
pei-formance, which continued as long as hj 
held it up. The Repubhcans came in from all 
the by-streets of the village, and were r9i.ged 
in two lines in front of the fountain, and their 
sergeants began the call. My uncle and I v/oi-o 
jistonished at the order which prevailed among 
these men. When their names were called they 
answered so promptly that it seemed as if ihere 
were but one reply from all sides. They had 
taken their guns, and held them carelessly, on 
their shoulders, or with the butt-end on the 
ground, — ^just as they chose. 

After the call there was perfect silenco, and 
then several men from each comnany wfre de- 


52 


MAJJAME THERkSE. 


each 3(1, under the escort of the corporals, to gc 
and fetch their bread. Citizen Therese harnessed 
her mule to the cart. Some moments afterwards 
the squads returned, bringing loaves of bread in 
bags and baskets. The distribution began. As 
the Eepublicans had made and eaten soup on 
their arrival, they were not himgry, and each 
one buckled a loaf to his knapsack. 

“ Come !” cried the Colonel, in a jo}Tul tone, 
let us move !” 

He took his cloak, threw it over his shoulders, 
and went out, without saying good-bye to any- 
body. 

We thought we had got rid of these people for- 
ever. 

As soon as he had gone, the burgomaster 
came to entreat Uncle Jacob to go home with him 
immediately, as the sight of the Kepubheans had 
made his wife ill. 

They went out together. Lisbeth at once ar- 
ranged the chairs, and swept out the sitting-room. 
We could hear the officers’ commands outside. 
“Forward, march!” The drums sounded. The 
cantiniere cried “ Hue !” to her mule, and the 
battalion was starting, when suddenly a terrible 
cracking resounded through the village. It was 


MADAME THERESE. 


53 


tlie firing of guns, sometimes several 1 jgether, — 
then one at a time. 

The Repubhcans were just going into the 
street. 

“ Halt !” cried the Colonel, standing in his 
stirrups and looking around, hstening attentively. 

I went to the wdndow, and saw all these men 
attentive, and the officers outside the ranks, gath- 
ered around their chief, who was speaking with an- 
imation. 

Suddenly a soldier appeared at the corner of 
the street. He was running with his gun on his 
shoulder. 

“ Colonel,” he called out, while still at a dis- 
tance, quite breathless, “ the Croats ! The out- 
posts are carried — they are coming!” 

He had hardly finished speaking when the 
Colonel turned back, galloped along the hne at 
full speed, and cried : 

“Form square!” 

The officers, the drummers, and the carJimhey 
all feU back, in front of the fountain, while the 
companies crossed each other like the shuffling of a 
pack of cards. In less than a minute they had 
formed a square, three deep, with the others in 
the middle. Immediately after, a terrible noise 


54 


MABAME TIIERESE, 


was lieard in the street ; the Croats were com- 
ing ; the ground shook. I see them now pour- 
ing into the street, their large red cloaks trimmed 
with fm' floating behind ‘them like banners, and 
bending so low in their saddles with their sabres 
in front, that one could hardly see the brown 
bony faces, with long yellow moustaches. 

It seems as if children must be possessed with 
the devil, for instead of running to a place of 
safety, I staid there, with eyes wide-open to see 
the fight. I was very much afraid, it is true, 
but cmnosity was stronger than fear. - 

While I looked and trembled, the Croats had 
reached the square. Instantly the Colonel cried : 

“Fire!” 

Then a clap of thunder, then nothing but a 
buzzing in my ears. Each side of the square 
turned toward the street had fired at once ; our 
vondow-panes were shivered, the smoke came into 
the room, with pieces of cartridges, and the smell 
of powder filled the air. I, my hair standing 
on end, still looked on, and saw the Croat? 
on their small horses rush forward in the gray 
smoke, fall back, then rush forward ag'ain, as if 
trying to chmb over the square, and others com- 
ing up constantly, crjdng in a savage voice : 


MADAME THERESE. 


“Forward! forward!” 

“Fire, the second rank!” cried the Colonel, in 
the midst of neighings and ceaseless cries. Uis 
voice was as calm as when he was speaking in our 
room. Another clap of thunder followed, and how 
the plastering fell, how the tiles rattled from the 
roofs, how heaven and earth seemed to mingle! 
Lisbeth, in the kitchen, uttered screams so pierc- 
ing that even in all the tumult they could be heard 
like a shrill whistle. 

After the fire of the platoon, began the fire of 
the file. We could see the guns of the second 
rank lower, fire, then rise again, while the first 
rank, with their knees bent on the ground, crossed 
bayonets, and the thud loaded the guns and passed 
them to the second. The Croats whirled round 
the square striking from a distance with their 
long sabres. From time to time a hat fell, some- 
times a man. One of the Croats, throwing his 
horse back on his haunches, leaped so far that he 
cleared the three fines, and fell inside the square. 
But then the Republican Colonel threw himself 
upon him, and with a furious stroke, nailed him, 
BO to speak, to the back of his hoi’se. I saw him 
withdraw his sabre red to the hilt. This sight 
made me tui-n cold. I was going to fly, but had 


56 


MA DAME THEKESE. 

hardly risen, when the Croats faced about, and 
fled, leaving a great number of men and horses 
in the square. The horses tried to rise, then fell 
again. Five or six horsemen lay under their 
beasts, trjdng ,to free their legs ; others, all bloody, 
dragged themselves along on all fours, raising their 
hands, and crying in a lamentable voice, in their 
fear of being killed, “ Pardon, Frenchmen !” Some, 
not able to endure their sufferings, begged the 
favor of being put out of such misery. 

Most of them, however, lay motionless. For the 
first time, I fully understood what death is ; these 
men that I had seen two minutes before, full of 
life and strength, charging their enemies with 
fury, and rushing forward like wolves, loy there, 
pell-mell, senseless as the stones of the street. 

In the ranks of the Kepublicans there were also 
vacant places, bodies stretched on their faces, and 
some wounded, their heads and faces coverec^ with 
blood. They bandaged their heads, placing their 
guns at their feet, without leaving the ranks. 
Their comrades helped them to bind on a hand- 
kerchief, and put the hat above it. The Colonel, 
on hoj’seback near the fountain, his large plumed 
hat pushed back, and his sabre clenched in his 
hand, closed up the ranks ; near him were some 


MADAME THERESE. 


drummers in line, and a little farther on, near the 
trough, was the cantinihe with her cask. We 
could hear the trumpets of the Croats sounding 
the retreat. They had halted at the turn of 
the street. One of their sentinels was posted there, 
behind the comer of the Town Hall. Only his 
horse’s head was to be seen. Some guns were 
still being fired. 

“Cease firing!” cried the Colonel, and all was 
silent. We heard only the trumpet in the distance. 

The cantiniere then went inside the ranks to pour 
out brandy for the men, while seven or eight 
sturdy fellows drew water from the fountain in 
their bowls, for the wounded, who begged for 
drink in pitiable voices. I leaned from the win- 
dow, looking down the deserted street, and asking 
myself if the red cloaks would dare to return. 
The Colonel also looked in that direction, and 
talked with a captain who was leaning against his 
saddle. Suddenly the captain crossed the square, 
left the ranks, and mshed into our house, cry- 
ing : 

“The master of the house?’* 

“He has gone out.” 

“Well — ^you — lead me to your garret — quick!” 

I left my shoes there, find began to climb the 


58 


MADAME THERESE. 


steps at tlie end of the hall like a sqiiuTel ; the 
captain followed me. At the top, he saw at a sin- 
gle glance the ladder of the pigeon-house, and 
momited before me. When we had entered, he 
placed his elbows on the edge of the somewhat 
low window, and leaned forward so as to see. I 
looked over his shoulder. The entire road, as far 
as one could see, was lined with men, cavahy, 
infantry, cannon, army wagons, red cloaks, green 
pehsses, white coats, helmets, cuii'asses, files of 
lances and bayonets, ranks of horses, and all were 
coming toward the village. 

“It is an army!” exclaimed the captain, in a 
low voice. 

He toned suddenly to go down, then, seized 
with an idea, pointed out to me along the village, 
within two gunshots, a file of red cloaks who were 
toning the curve of the road just behind the 
orchards. 

“You see those red cloaks?” said he. 

“Yes.” 

“Does a carriage road pass there?” 

“No, it is a foot-path.” 

“And this large hollow which cuts it in the 
middle, directly before us — is it deep?” 

“Oh, yes!” 


MADAME THERESE. 


59 


"Carriages and carts never pass that way?” 

"No, they could not.” 

Then, without asking anything more, he de- 
scended the ladder backwards, as rapidly as pos- 
sible, and hastened down the stairs. I followed 
him ; we were soon at the foot, but before we 
had reached the end of the hall, the approach 
of a body of cavalry caused the houses to shake, 
despite this, the captain went out, took two 
men from the ranks, and disappeared. Thousands 
of quick, strange cries, like those of a flock of 
crows, "HuiTah! hurrah!” filled the street from 
one end to the other, and nearly di’owned the 
dull thud of the horses’ galloping. I, feel- 
ing very proud of having conducted the captain 
to the pigeon-house, was so imprudent as to go 
to the door. The lancers, for this time they were 
lancers, came hke the wind, their spears in rest, 
then- ears covered by large hair caps, eyes star- 
ing, noses almost concealed by their moustaches, 
and large pistols, with butt ends of brass, in their 
belts. It was hke a vision. I had only time to 
jumj) back from the door. My blood froze in 
my veins. And it was only when the firing re- 
commenced that I awoke, as if fr-om a dream, 
and found myself in the back part of our room 


60 


MAVAME THERksE. 


opposite the broken windows. The air was thick, 
the square all white with smoke. The Colonel 
alone was visible, seated immovable on his horse 
near the fountain. He might have been taken 
for a bronze statue in this blue sea, from which 
hundreds of red flames spouted. The lancers leaped 
about like immense gi’asshoppers, thrust their spears, 
and withdrew them ; others fired their pistols into 
the ranks, at four paces. 

It seemed to me that the square was breaking. 
It was true. 

“Close the ranks !\^tand firm!” cried the Col- 
onel, in his calm voice. 

“ Close the ranks I Close 1” repeated the officers 
all along the line. But the square gave way, and 
became a semi-circle. The centre nearly touched 
the fountain. At each stroke of the lance, the 
parry of the bayonet came like a flash of hght, 
but sometimes the man feU. The Kepublicans 
no longer had time to reload. They ceased firing, 
and the lances were constantly coming, bolder, 
more numerous, enveloping the square in a whirl- 
wind, and already uttering cries of triumph, for 
they beheved themselves conquerors. 

For myself, I thought the Kepubhcans were 
lost, when, in the height of the combat, the 


MADAME THERESE. G1 

Colonel, raising his hat on the end of Ins sabre, 
began to smg a song which made one’s flesh 
creep, and aU the battahon, as one man, sang 
with him. In the twinkhng of an eye the whole 
front of the square straightened itself, and forced 
into the street all the mass of horsemen, pressed 
one against another, with then- long lances, like 
corn in the fields. This song seemed to render 
the Repubhcans furious. It was terrible to see 
them. And I have thought many times since 
that men aiTayed in battle are more ferocious than 
wild beasts. But there was something still more 
horrible ; the last ranks of the Austrian column, 
at the end of the street, not seeing what was 
passing at the entrance of the square, rushed 
forward, crying, “Hurrah! hurrah!” so that those 
in the first ranks, repulsed by the bayonets of 
the Republicans, and not able to go further back, 
were thrown into unspeakable confusion, and ut- 
tered distressing cries; their large horses, pricked 
in the nostrils, were so frightened that their 
manes stood up straight, their eyes started from 
their heads, and they uttered shriU cries, and 
kicked wildly. From a distance I saw these un- 
fortunate lancerg, mad with fear, turn round, strike 
tlieir comrades with the handles of their lances 


62 MADAME THERESE, 

to force a passage for themselves, and fly like 
hares past the houses. 

A few minutes afterward the street was empty. 
There remained, indeed, twenty-five or thirty poor 
devils shut up in the square. They had not seen 
the retreat, and were entmely disconcerted, not 
knowing where to fly. But this was soon over. 
A fresh discharge of the guns stretched them on 
their backs, except two or three who were thrown 
mto Tanners’ Lane. Only a heap of horses and 
dead men was to be seen. Blood flowed thi’ough 
the gutters, into the trough. 

“Cease firing!” cried the Colonel, for the second 
time. “ Load !” 

At that moment nine o’clock struck from the 
church tower. It is impossible to describe the 
village as it looked then ; — houses pierced with 
balls ; shutters hanging from their hinges ; mn- 
dows shattered ; chimneys tottering ; the street 
full of tiles and broken bricks, the roofs of the 
sheds open to the sky, and that heap of dead, 
those horses stretched on the ground, struggling 
and bleeding. It is a scene which defies descrip- 
tion. 

The Kepublicans, diminished by half their num- 
ber, theii’ large hats fallen back, stern and terrible in 


MADAME THERESE. 


68 


aspect, awaited orders under arms. Behind, at a little 
distance from our house, stood the Colonel, de- 
liberating with his officers. I could easily hear 
what he said. 

“We have an Austrian army before us,” said 
he, abruptly. “The question is, how to save our- 
selves. In an hour we shall have twenty or thirty 
thousand men upon us. They will surround the 
village with their infantry, and we shall all bo 
lost. I am going to beat a retreat. Has any- 
body anything to say?” 

“ No, it is a wise decision.” 

Then they disappeared, and two minutes after, 
I saw a number of soldiers enter the houses, 
throw chairs, tables, and chests of drawers into a 
heap outside ; some threw straw and hay from 
the barns ; others brought carts and carriages 
from the out-houses. In less than ten minutes 
they had formed at the entrance of the street a 
barrier as high as the houses ; they placed hay 
and straw above and beneath it. The drum-beat 
recalled those who were engaged in this work. 
The fire rose immediately, step by step, to the 
top of the barricade, licking the neighboring roofs 
with its red flames, and spreading its black 
smoke like an immer.;:'e vault over the village. 


6i 


MADAME THERESE. 


Loud cries rose in the distance ; shots were heard 
on the other side, but we saw nothing, and the 
Colonel gaye the order for retreat. I saw the Ke- 
pubhcans defile past our house with slow, firm 
steps, flashing eyes, red bayonets, black hands, 
hoUow cheeks. Two drummers marched silently 
behind, one of whom was the httle boy whom I 
had seen sleeping in our shed. He had his drum 
slung over his shoulder, and was bent foi-ward, 
in marching attitude ; large tears flowed over his 
round cheeks, which were blackened by the smoke 
of the powder. His comrade said, “Come, httle 
Jean, courage!” But he did not seem to hear 
him. Horatius Codes and the caniirdere had dis- 
appeared. I followed the troop with my eyes 
until they tmmed the street. A few moments 
afterward the bell of the Town Hall sounded, 
and in the distance distressed voices were heard, 
crying, “ Fire 1 Are 1” 

I looked toward the barricade of the Kepub- 
licans. The fire had reached the houses, and 
rose toward the sky. On the other side the 
din of arms fiUed the street, and already long 
black pikes were thrust from the gan^et-windows 
of the neighboring houses to break down the 
burning barricade. 


IV. 


ike lo^arture of the Republicans, a quar- 
ter of .ai.\ hour pajsed before anybody appeared 
on our side of tho street. All the houses seemed 
deserted. On the other side of the barricade the 
t&mult increased ; cries of “ Fire ! fire !” contin- 
ued, in dismal tones. I went into the shed, 
frightened at tlie fire. Nothing stirred. I heard 
only the crackLhig of the flames and the sighs of 
a wounded man leaning against the wall of our 
stable. He had a ball in his loins, and leaned 
forward, supporting himself on his hands. He was 
a Croat. He looked at me with terrible, despair- 
ing eyes. A little further on, a horse, lying on 
his side, swung his head to and fro, on his long 
neck, like a pendulum. As I stood there, think- 
ing that the French must be great brigands, to 
burn our houses without any reason, I heard a 


66 


MADAME THERESE. 


faint sound behind me. Turning round, I saw in 
the gloom of the shed under the straw falling 
from the beams, the half open door of the barn, 
and behind it the pale face and staring eyes of 
our neighbor Spick. He put his head out softly, 
and listened ; then, convinced that the Repubhcans 
had retreated, he rushed out, brandishing his 
axe hke a madman, and crying : 

“Where are they, those beggars? Where are 
they — ^let me exterminate them !” 

“Ah,” said I; “they’re gone, but if you run, you 
can overtake them at the end of the village.” 

He gave me a sidelong glance, and seeing that I 
spoke innocently, left me, and ran to the fire. 
Other doors now opened, and men and women 
came out, looked around them, and raised their 
hands to heaven, crying : 

“ Curse them ! Curse them !” 

They all hastened with their buckets to extin- 
guish the fire. The fountain was soon surrounded. 
They formed a line on both sides of the barri- 
cade, which extended to the houses that were in 
danger. Some soldiers standing on the roof, poiued 
water upon the flames : but all they could do was to 
save the neighboring houses. Towards eleven 
o’clock a column of bluish fire rose toward the sky 


MADAME THERESE. 


07 


among the vehicles that were piled up was found 
the cantinih'e’s cart ; its two casks of brandy had 
burst. Uncle Jacob was in the line, also, on the 
other side, under the guard of the Austrian senti- 
nels ; but he managed to escape while crossing a 
yard, and entered our house by the garden. 

“ Oh Lord,” cried he, “ Fritzel is saved !” 

I saw by this how much he loved me. He kissed 
me, and asked : 

“Where have you been, poor child?” 

“ At the window,” said I. 

He became very pale, and cried : 

“ Lisbeth ! Lisbeth !” 

But she did not answer, and we could not find 
her, although we went into all the rooms, and 
even looked under the beds. We thought she 
must have gone to some neighbor’s house for safety. 
Meanwhile they had put out the fire, and suddenly 
we heard the Austrians cry outside : 

“ Boom ! room ! fall back !” 

And a regiment of Croats passed us like a thun- 
derbolt. They rushed on in pursuit of the Kepubh- 
cans ; but we learned the next day, that they had 
arrived too late ; the enemy had gained the for- 
est of Eothalps, which extended as far as 
Pirmasens. Now we understood why they had 


C8 


MADAME THERESE. 


barricaded the street and set fire to the houses 
They wished to retard the pursuit of the cav- 
alry, and thus showed their great experience in 
war. 

From that moment until five in the evening 
two Austrian brigades were defihng into the vil- 
lage under our windows ; lancers, dragoons, 
hussars ; then cannon and army-wagons ; towards 
three o’clock, the general-in-chief, in the midst of 
his officers, — a large old man in a three-cornered 
hat, and long white Polonaise,^ so covered with 
lace and gold embroidery that the Kepublican 
commander, in his shabby hat and uniform, would 
have looked like a simple corporal beside him. 
The burgomaster and councillors of Anstatt, in 
cloth coats with large sleeves, their heads uncov- 
ered, awaited him in the square. He stopped 
there a few minutes, and looking at the dead 
bodies heaped up around the fountain, asked : 

“ How many of the French were here ?” 

“A battahon, your Excellency,” replied the bur- 
gomaster, bent double. 

The general said nothing, but raised his three- 
cornered hat, and pursued his way. 

Then the second brigade arrived ; Tyrolese 


* Polish robe. 


69 


MADAME THERESE. 

riflemen in front, in gi-een coats, black bats, witli 
turned-up brims, and bttle Inspruck carbines ; 
then another troop of infantry in white coats, sky- 
blue breeches, and great gaiters reachmg to their 
knees ; then the heavy cavalry, men six feet 
high, encased in cuirasses, only the chin and long 
red moustache visible mider the visor of the hel- 
met ; then came large ambulances, covered with 
gray linen, stretched over hoops, and behind 
them, the lame, the stragglers, and the cowards. 
The army surgeons made the tour of the square, 
raised the wounded, and placed them in the wag- 
ons, and one of their leaders, a httle old man in a 
white wig, said to the burgomaster, pointing to 
those who remained : 

■‘You will bury all those as soon as possible.” 

“ Your orders shall be obeyed, sir,” answered he, 
gravely. 

At length the last wagons rolled away. It was 
about six o’clock. Night had come. Uncle Jacob 
and I stood in the doorway. Before us, near the 
fountain, all the dead lay in rows, with upturned 
faces, and staring eyes, white as wax, and bloodless. 
The women and children of the village walked 
around them. When the grave-digger, Jefferj with 
his two sons, Karl and Ludwig, arrived with their 


70 


MADAME THERESE. 


pick-axes on their shoulders, the bui'gomaster said 
to them : 

“ Take twelve men with you, and dig a deep 
grave for all these bodies, in the meadow of the 
Wolfthal. Do you hear me? And all who have 
carts must lend them, with their horses ; for it is 
a public service.” 

Jeffer bent his head, and went immediately to 
the meadow of the Wolfthal, with his two boys and 
the men whom he had chosen. 

“Now, we must find Lisbeth,” said my uncle. 

We recommenced our search, going from garret 
to cellar, and at last, just as we were going to re- 
mount the stairs, w^e saw in the darkness, behind 
the barrel of som'-krout between the tAvo air- 
holes, a bundle of hnen, which my uncle began 
to shake. Lisbeth cried immediately in a pitiful 
voice — 

“ Don’t kill me! In heaven’s name have pity 
upon me !” 

“Get up,” said my uncle, kindly; “it is all 
over.” 

But she was still so much frightened that she 
could hardly put one foot before the other, and 
I had to lead her up stairs by the hand, like 
a child. Then finding herself again in the kitch' 


MADAME THEMEJSE. 


en, she sat down by the hearth, and burst into 
tears, praying, and thanking God for having 
saved her ; — which proves that the old chng to 
life quite as much as the young. 

I shall never forget the hours of desolatioi. 
which followed, and the constant calls upon my 
imcle from the unfortunates who claimed his care. 
Not a moment passed but a woman or child ran 
into the house, crying : “Doctor! come quickly; 
my husband — my brother — my sister — are iU!” 

One had been wounded, another had become 
almost insane with fear ; another, stretched out to 
his full length, gave no sign of hfe. My uncle 
could not be everywhere. 

“You will find him at such a house,” I would 
say to these wretched ones; “make haste!” 

And they would hasten away. It was very late, 
nearly ten o’clock, when he at last returned. Lis- 
beth had recovered from her fright a httle. She 
had made the fire on the hearth, and laid the 
table, as usual ; but the plastering from the ceil- 
ing, the pieces of window-glass and wood still 
covered the floor. In the midst of it all, we seated 
ourselves at the table, and ate in silence. From 
time to time, my uncle raised his head, and looked 
out on the square, at the torches moving around 


72 


MADAME THilRESE. 


the dead, the black carts stationed before the 
fountain, with their httle country ponies, the grave- 
diggers, the lookers on, — all out in the darkness. 
He observed them gravely, and suddenly, when 
we had nearly finished, he said to me, stretch- 
mg out his hand : 

“ Behold what war is, Fritzel ; — look, and re- 
member ! Yes, this is war ; death and destruc- 
tion, fury and hatred, disregard of all human 
feehngs. When God strikes us with his curses, 
when he sends us pestilence and famine, these are 
at least inevitable scourges, decreed by His wis- 
dom. But here it is man himself, who decrees 
misery to his kind, spreads his ravages far and 
wide, without pity. Yesterday, we were at peace ; 
we asked nothing of anybody ; we had done no 
harm; — and suddenly strange men came to strike, 
to ruin and destroy us. Ah, cursed be those 
whose ambitious spirit provokes such misfortimes! 
Let them be execrated through aU ages! Fritzel, 
remember this ; war is aU that is most abomina- 
ble on earth. Men who do not know, who have 
never seen each other, rush suddenly together, 
to tear each other to pieces. This alone would 
make us beheve in God, for there must be an 
avenger of such iniquity.” 



DR. JACOB WAGNER, 










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MADAME THERESE. 


73 


My ancle spoke earnestly. He was much moved , 
and I listened with head bowed down, retaining 
every word and graving it upon my memory. 
As we sat thus, a kind of dispute arose outside 
in the square. We heard a dog growl, and our 
neighbor Spick say, angrily : 

“ Stop ! stop ! you beggar of a dog. I’ll give 
you a blow with my pick-axe ! He’s an animal 
of the same species as his masters. They pay you 
with assignoia * and bites ; but I’m not the man 
to submit to that!” 

The dog growled more fiercely. Other voices 
broke the sdence of the night : 

“It is very curious, though : see, he won’t 
leave the woman. Perhaps she isn’t quite dead.” 

My uncle rose hastily, and went out. I fol- 
lowed. Nothing could be more terrible than the 
sight of those dead bodies in the red reflection 
of the torches. There was no wind, but the 
flame swayed to and fro, and all those ghostly 
creatures with open eyes seemed to move. 

“Not dead!” cried Spick. “Are you a fool, 
Jeffer? Do you think that you know more than 
the army surgeons? No, no, she’s received her 


* The paper money of the French Eepublic. 
2 * 


71 


MADAME THDRESE. 


duo. She’s well served — she’s the woman who 
paid for my brandy with paper. Go away from 
here, that I may kill the dog, ' and thus end the 
matter.” 

‘ What’s going on here?” asked my uncle, in 
a loud voice. They all turned round and looked 
frightened. The grave-digger took off his hat, 
two or three others moved aside, and we saw on 
the steps of the fountain, the cantiniere stretched 
out, white as snow, her beautiful black hair all 
unbound, in a pool of blood ; her httle cask still at 
her side, and her pale hands thrown to the right and 
left on the wet stones, over which the water flowed. 
Several corpses lay around her, and at her feet 
was the spaniel that I had seen in the morning 
with the httle drummer, — the hair standing up 
on his back, his eyes flashing and hps trembling, 
as he looked at Spick, gTowling and shivering. 
Notwithstanding his great courage and his pick- 
axe, the inn-keeper dared not approach, for it 
was easy to see that if he missed his blow the 
dog would leap at his throat. 

“ What is this ?” repeated Uncle Jacob. 

“ Because the dog remains here,” answered Spick, 
Biieeringly, “they say the woman isn’t dead.” 

“ They are right,” said my uncle, sharply. “ Some 


MADAME THERESE. 


75 


animals have more mind and heart than some 

men. Take yourself away!” 

He pushed him aside with his elbow, went 

to the woman, and bent over her. The dog, in- 
stead of springing upon him, seemed to gi’ow 

quiet, and allowed him to do as he would. The 
others came near. My uncle knelt down, uncovered 
her bosom, and placed his hand on her heart. 
No one spoke ; the silence was profound. It 
lasted nearly a minute, then Spick said : 

“ Ha I ha I Let them bury her. Isn’t it so, 
doctor ?” 

Uncle Jacob rose, frowning, and looked at the 
man sternly, from head to foot. 

“Wretched man!” said he, “on account of a 
few pints of brandy, for which this poor woman 
paid you as well as she could, you now wish to 
see her dead, and perhaps buried ahve !” 

“Doctor!” cried the innkeeper, straightening him- 
self with an arrogant air, “do you know that 
there are laws, and that” 

“Shence!” interrupted my uncle. “Your beha- 
vior is infamous !” Then turning to the others : 
“Jeffer, carry this woman into m.y house — she 
still hves.” 

He threw a last indignant look at Spick, while 


76 


MADAME THEEESE, 


the gi’ave-digger and his sons placed the caiUirden 
on the htter. They went toward the house. The 
dog followed Uncle Jacob, pressing close to hia 
legs. As to the inn-keeper, we heard him say 
behind us, mockingly : 

“The woman’s dead! This doctor knows as 
much about it as my pick-axe. The woman’s 
dead — it makes no difference whether she’s bui*ied 
to-day or to-morrow. We’U see which of us is 
right.” 

As we were crossing the square, I saw the mole- 
catcher and Koffel following us, which re-assured 
me ; for since night had come, a sort of terror 
had seized me, especially when near the dead 
bod^i^a, and I was glad to have a good many 
people about. The mole-catcher walked before the 
litter, holding a large torch. Koffel kept near my 
uncle and looked grave. 

“ These are terrible things, doctor,” said he. 

“ Ah, is it you, Koffel ? Yes, yes, the genius of 
evil is in the air, the spirits of darkness are un- 
chained.” 

We entered the httle alley, wliich was filled 
with, rubbish. The mole-catcher stopped in the 
doorway to light Jeffer and his sons, who came 
forward with hea’sy steps. We followed them intc 


MADAME TIIDRESE. 


Ti 


tli3 room, and raising liis torch, he said, in a 
solemn tone : 

“Where are the days of tranquillity, the mo- 
ments of peace, repose and trust, after labor — 
where are they, doctor ? Ah, they have flown 
away through all these openings!” 

Then I noticed for the flrst time the desolate 
look of our old room, with its broken windows, 
whose shining fragments gleamed in the darkness. 
I understood the mole-catcher’s words, and thought 
that we were indeed unfortunate. 

“Jeffer, lay the woman on my bed,” said my 
uncle, sadly. “Our own miseries must not make 
us forget those who are even more unhappy than 
we are.” And turning to the mole-catcher : “ You 
will stay and hold the light for me, and Koffel 
will help me.” 

The gTave-digger and his sons having placed 
the htter on the floor, lifted the woman out, and 
put her upon the bed in the alcove. The mole- 
catcher held the torch, the reflections of which made 
his ruddy face look pui-ple. Uncle Jacob gave some 
kreutzers to Jeffer, who went away with his boys. 
Old Lisbeth had come to see what was going 
on. She trembled and dared not approach the 
bod, and I heard her repeating the Ave Mana in 


78 


MADAME TEERESE. 


a low tone. Her terror was beginning to infect 
me, when my uncle cried : 

“ Lisbeth, what are you thinking of ? In heaven’s 
name, are you crazy? Isn’t this woman hke all 
women, and haven’t you helped me in my opera- 
tions a hundred times? Come — come — foUy has 
taken possession of you. Go heat some water, 
that’s aU the assistance I can hope for from 
you.” 

The dog was sitting in front of the alcove, 
looking, through his shag’gy hair, at the woman 
stretched upon the bed, pale and motionless as a 
corpse. 

“ Fritzel,” said my uncle, “ close the shutters ; 
we must have less air. And you, Koffel, make a 
fire in the stove, for we cannot expect to get 
any help from Lisbeth now. Ah, if amid so much 
wretchedness we still had the good sense to keep 
somewhat calm ! But all must be in confusion. 
When the devil starts out, no one knows where 
he’ll stop.” 

He spoke in a discouraged tone. I ran out 
to close the shutters, and heard him fasten them 
inside. Looking toward the fountain, I saw two 
more carts laden with the dead. I re-entered the 
house, shivering. Koffel had hghted the fii-e, 


MADAME THERESE. 79 

which crackled in the sto^e. My uncle opened 
his case of instruments on the table. The mole- 
catcher stood by, looking at the thousand shining 
little knives. Uncle Jacob took a probe and ap- 
proached the bed, putting aside the curtains. The 
mole-catcher and Koffel followed. Curiosity im- 
pelled me to watch them. The candle lighted up 
the alcove ; my uncle had cut open the cantiniere’s 
jacket. Koffel, with a large sponge, bathed her 
breast, which was covered with dark blood. The 
dog watched him without stirring. Lisbeth also had 
returned. She held my hand, and muttered some 
prayer. No one spoke in the alcove, and my 
uncle, hearing the old servant, cried, angrily : 

“ Will you be quiet, foolish woman ! Come 
mole-catcher, come, raise her arm.” 

“A beautiful creature,” said the mole-catcher, 
stm very young.” 

“ How pale she is !” said Koffel. 

1 went nearer and saw her lying there, white 
as snow, her head thrown back, and her black 
hair falling around her. The mole-catcher held 
up her arm, and beneath it, between the breast 
and the arm-pit, appeared a bluish opening from 
which flowed some drops of blood. Uncle Jacob, 
liis lips compressed, probed this wound the 


80 


MADAME THERkSE. 


probe would not go in. I became so interested, 
never having seen anything of the kind, that my 
whole soul was in that alcove, and I heard my 
uncle murmur — 

“ It is strange !” 

At that moment the woman breathed a long 
sigh, and the dog, who had been quiet until 
then, began to cry in a voice as lamentable and 
gentle as a human being’s. It made my hair 
stand on end. 

“ Be silent !” cried the mole-catcher. 

The dog was silent, and my uncle said : 

“ Raise the arm again, mole-catcher. Koffel, 
come here and support the body.” 

Koffel went behind the bed, and raised the 
woman by the shoulders. The probe immediate- 
ly went in very far. She groaned, and the dog 
growled. 

“ There,” cried my uncle, “ she is saved. Hold, 
Koffel, see : the ball has glanced along the ribs, 
it is here, under the shoulder. Do you feel it?” 

“Very plainly.” 

Uncle Jacob went out, and seeiug me behind 
the curtain, cried: 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m looking.” 


MADAME TBERijSE. 


81 


“ Good, now, he’s looking ! Everything goes 
wrong.” 

He took a knife from the table and went 
back. 

The dog watched me with his shining eyes, 
which disturbed me. Suddenly the woman ut- 
tered a cry, and my uncle exclaimed, joyfully : 

See ! it is a pistol-ball. The poor creature 
has lost a great deal of blood, but she will re- 
cover.” 

“ She must have received that during the 
great charge of the lancers,” said Koffel. “I 
was at old Krsemer’s, on the first floor, clean- 
ing liis clock, and I saw that they fired as they 
came in.” 

“It’s possible,” answered my uncle, who now 
for the first time thought of looking at the wo- 
man’s face. 

He took the candle from the mole-catcher, and 
standing behind the bed, looked dreamily for 
some seconds at the unfortunate creature. 

“Yes,” he said, “she is a beautiful woman, 
and has a noble head. How sad that such 
creatures should foUow the army. How much 
better would it be to see them in the bosom of 
an honest family, surrounded by lovely children, 


82 


MABAME THERJ^SE. 


beside an lionest man whose happiness thej 
would make. What a shame ! After all, though, 
it is the will of God.” 

He went out, calling Lisbeth. 

“Get some of your clothes for this woman, and 
put them on her,” he said. “ Mole-catcher, Koffel, 
come; we will have a glass of wine, for this 
has been a hard day for us.” 

He went down into the cellar, and returned 
just as the old servant came in with the garments. 
Lisbeth, seeing that the cardiniere was not dead, 
had taken courage ; she went into the alcove and 
drew the curtains, while my uncle uncorked the 
bottle and went to the side-board for glasses. 
The mole-catcher and Koffel seemed content. I, 
too, drew near the table, which was sthl laid, 
and we finished our supper. The dog watched 
us at a distance. My uncle threw him some 
pieces of bread, but he would not eat them. 
The church-clock struck one. 

“It is half-past twelve,” said Koffel. 

“No,” replied the mole-catcher, “ it is one o’clock 
I think it is time for us to go to bed.” 

Lisbeth came out from the alcove, and w’^e aU 
went in to see the cardiniere. She seemed to 
sleep. The dog placed his fore paws on the 


MABAME THERhsE. 


82 


ed^^e of tlie bed, and looked at her also. Uncle 
Jacob patted his head, saying : 

“ Don’t be afraid ; she will get well, I promise 
thee !” 

The poor animal seemed to understand, and 
whined softly. Then we went out. My uncle 
lighted Koffel and the mole-catcher to the door, 
and then said to us : 

“Go to bed, now, it’s time.” 

“ And you, doctor?” asked the old servant. 

“I shall watch — this woman’s in danger, and 
they may also want me in the village.” 

He put a log on the fire, and threw himself 
back on the arm-chair, twisting a piece of pa- 
per to hght his pipe. Lisbeth and I went up to 
our rooms, but it was very late before I could 
get to sleep, despite my great fatigue ; for every 
half-hour the rumbling of carts and the reflec- 
tion of torches on the windows, told me that 
the dead were still passing. At lengih, at day- 
break, all the noises ceased, and I slept soundly. 


V. 


"WHAr a sight the village was the next day 
when each one was trying t3 find out what re 
mained, and what he had lost. They found thal 
a gi*eat number of Repubhcaiis, lancers, and Croats 
had entered the houses through the back doors, 
and ransacked them Then there was general 
indignation, and I felt that the mole-catcher was 
right in saying ; 

“ The days of peace and quiet have flown away 
through these openmgs.” 

All the doors and windows were thr own ojoen 
so the havoc might be seen ; . the street was 
filled Avith furniture, vehicles, cattle, and men 
wh^ were exclaiming, 

“ Ah, the beggars ! Ah, the robbers ! Tiiey’ve 
taken everything !” 

One was looking for his ducks, another for 


MADAME THERESE. 


85 


liis chickens, another found under his bed a pair 
of old shoes instead of his boots, a fourth, find- 
ing his chimney-place empty, where sausages and 
pieces of bacon had hung the morning before, 
went into a terrible passion ; the women raised 
their hands to heaven in despair, and the girls 
seemed stupefied. Butter, eggs, tobacco, potatoes, 
even hnen — ^had all been stolen. The more they 
looked, the more they missed. The greatest 
rage was felt against the Croats, for after the 
general had passed, they, no longer fearing that 
they might be complained of, had rushed into 
the houses hke a band of famished wolves, and 
God knows how much had been given them to 
induce them to go, without reckoning what they 
had taken. 

It is very unfortunate that old Germany has sol- 
diers from whom she has more to fear than from the 
French. The Lord preserve us from ever again 
needing their aid. We children, Hans Aden, Frantz 
Sepel, Nickel, Johann, and I, went from door to 
door, looking at the broken tiles and shutters, and 
unroofed sheds, and picking up scraps, papers of 
cartridges, and balls flattened against the walls. 
We enjoyed these treasures so much, that we did 
not think of returning home before night-fall 


86 


MADAME TffERESE 


Towards two o’clock we met Zaplieri Sclimouck, 
the basket-maker’s son, who held up his red 
head, and seemed prouder than usual. He had 
something hidden under his blouse, and when 
we asked, 

“What have you got there?” he showed us 
the end of a great horse-pistol. 

Then we all followed him. 

He marched in the midst of us like a general ; 
we said to every boy we met, “He’s got a pis- 
tol,” and the new-comer would join the troop. 

We would not have left Schmouck for an em- 
pire. It seemed to us that the glory of liis pis- 
tol was reflected upon us. 

Such are children, and such are men! 

Each boasted of the dangers he had incurred 
during the great battle. 

“I heard the balls whistle,” said Frantz Sepel, 
“two of them came into our kitchen.” 

“I saw the general of the lancers galloping, 
in his red cap,” cried Hans Aden, “ that was 
much more terrible than hearing the balls whis- 
tle.” 

What elated me most was that the Eepubli- 
can commander had given me the cake, saying : 
“Eat this boldly!” I thought myself worthy of 


MADAME THERESE. 


87 


having a i^istol, like Zaplieri ; — but nobody would 
believe me. 

As we passed the steps of the Town Hal] 
Schmouck cried : 

“ Come and see !” 

We mounted the grand staircase behind him. 
and stopping before the door of iAie council- 
chamber, which was pierced by a square opening as 
large as one’s hand, he said : 

“ Look — the dead men’s clothes are there. 
Jeffer and the bui’gomaster brought them in a cart, 
this morning.” 

We remained more than an hour looking at 
these clothes, climbing on each other’s shoulders, 
and whispering : 

“Let me look now, Hans Aden — it’s my turn,” 
etc. 

The clothes were piled up m the middle of 
the large, deserted room, under the dim light of 
two high grated windows. There were the Eepub- 
hcan hats and lancers’ caps, belts and pouches, 
blue coats, and red cloaks, sabres, and pistols. 
The guns were placed against the walls on the 
right, and further on we saw a row of lances. 

The sight of them gave me a chiU, and I have 
never forgotten them. 


88 


MADAME THEEijSE. 


At the end of an horn*, when night came, one oi 
the boys suddenly became frightened, and ran down 
the stairs, crying in a loud voice : 

“Here they are!” 

Then all the party rushed do^vn the steps, 
falling over each other in the darkness. It is a 
wonder that we did not break our necks, so 
great was our terror. I w^as the last ; and al- 
though my heart beat violently, I turned at the 
foot of the stairs, to look back. It was nearly 
dark in the vestibule ; through a Httle window 
on the right, a faint ray of hght fell on the 
dark steps. Not a sound disturbed the silence 
under the sombre vault. The cries in the street 
died away in the distance. I began to fear that 
my uncle would be anxious about me, and went 
home alone, not without looking around again ; 
for it seemed to me that stealthy steps were fol- 
lowing me, and I dared not run. 

I stopped before the inn of the Two Keys, 
whose windows shone in the darkness of the 
night. The noise of the drinkers reassui'ed me. 
I looked through the little opening in the door, 
into the large room, where there was the hum ol 
many voices, and saw Koffel, the mole-catcher, M 
Ririiter, and many others seated at the deal tables, 


MADAME THERtsE. 


89 


bending over pitcliers and goblets. The angular 
figure of M. Richter, in his hunting-jacket and 
leather cap, was gesticulating, under the hanging 
lamp, in the gray smoke. 

“ Behold these famous Republicans,” said he, 
“ these terrible men who are going to upset the 
world. The glorious shadow of the Field Mar- 
shal Wiu’mser is sufficient to scatter them. You’ve 
seen them turn their backs, and stretch their legs! 
How many times have I told you that their great 
enterprise would end in an explosion ? Mole- 
catcher, Koffel, didn’t I say so?” 

“ Yes, you said so,” rephed the mole-catcher, 
“ but that’s no reason why you should talk so loud. 
Come, M. Richter, sit dovm and order a bottle 
of wine ; Koffel and I’ve paid for ours. That’s 
the principal thing.” 

M. Richter sat down, and I went home. It 
was about half-past seven o’clock. The passage 
was swept, and the window-panes reset. I went 
at once to the kitchen, and Lisbeth seeing me, 
cried : 

“Oh, here he is.” She opened the door and 
said, in a lower tone, “Doctor, the child’s come!” 

“Very well,” said my imcle, who was seated at 
the table, “let him come in.” 


90 MADAME THERESE. 

I was beginning to speak loud. 

“ Husli !” said he, pointing to the alcove, “ sit 
doAvn ; you must have a good appetite.” 

“Yes, uncle.” 

“Where do you come from?” 

“I’ve been to see the village.” 

“Very weU, Fritzel; you’ve made me uneasy, 
but I’m glad you’ve witnessed these horrors.” 

Lisbeth brought me a good plate of soup, 
and while I ate, he added — 

“ Now, you knoAV what war is. Eemember 
these things, Fritzel, to curse them. It is a good 
lesson. What we see in our youth, remains with 
us all our hves.” 

He spoke to himself rather than to me ; — I was 
too much occupied with my supper to attend. 
After soup, Lisbeth gave me meat and vegetables ; 
but just as I was taking my fork, I saw a motion- 
less creature sitting near me on the floor, watch- 
ing me. This startled me. 

“ Don’t be afraid, Fritzel,” said my uncle, smilmg. 

I looked again and saw that it was the cantiniere's 
dog. He was sitting gravely, with upturned nose 
and hanging ears, observing me attentively. 

“Give him some of your supper, and you Avifl 
soon be good friends.” 


MADAME THERESE. 


91 


He called the dog, who came and seated him- 
self near his chair, seeming well pleased with the 
little pats my uncle gave him on the head. He 
licked my plate clean, then looked at me again 
seriously. Supper was nearly over and I was just 
going to rise from the table, when a confused 
muttering was heard in the alcove. My uncle 
listened ; the woman was speaking extremely fast 
and low. Those confused, mysterious words, in 
the midst of the silence, moved me mo^'e than 
dll the rest. I felt that I turned pale. Uncle 
Jacob, his head bent forward, looked at me, but 
his thoughts were elsewhere ; he was listening. 
Among the many words she uttered, a few were 
very distinct. 

“ My father — Jean — killed — all — all — my country !” 

I saw that my uncle was much troubled ; his 
lips trembled. He took the lamp and approached 
the bed. Lisbeth entered, to clear the table. He 
turned to her and said : 

“ See, fever has set in,” and he drew aside the cui’- 
tains. She followed. I did not move from my 
chau\ I was no longer hungry. The woman was 
silent. I saw my uncle’s and Lisbeth’s shadows 
on the curtains. He held the woman’s arm. The 
dog was in the alcove with them. I was alone in 


92 


MADAME THERilSE, 


the dark room, and felt afraid. The canliniere 
spoke again more loudly ; then the room seemed 
to grow darker, and I drew near the hght. But 
at that moment there was a struggle ; Lisbeth, 
who was holding the lamp, recoiled, and the wo- 
man, very pale, with wide open eyes, half rose, 
crying: 

“Jean — Jean — take care—- I’m coming!” Then 
she uttered a great cry — “Long hve the Eepublic!” 
and fell back. 

My uncle came out, exclaiming in great agitar 
tion : 

“ Lisbeth, quick, quick, go up stairs in the 
closet — the gray vial with a glass stopper — 
hurry 1” 

He re-entered the alcove. Lisbeth ran up 
stairs ; I held fast to my uncle’s coat. The 
dog growled ; the woman was stretched out as if 
dead. Lisbeth returned with the vial. Uncle Jacob 
looked at it, and said, quickly, 

“That’s it — a spoon!” 

I ran to get^ my spoon. He wiped it, poured 
a few drops into it, and raising the woman’s 
head made her swallow them, saying, with ex- 
treme gentleness, 

“Come, come, courage, my child — coui'agel” 


MADAME THERESE. 


93 


I had never heard him speak in a voice so 
sweet, so tender — it touched my heart. The canlU 
niere sighed gently. My uncle laid her back 
upon the bed, raising her pillow. Then he came 
out, looking very pale, and said to us : 

“Go to bed, leave me — ^I’m going to watch.” 

“But, doctor,” said Lisbeth, “last night” 

“ Go to bed,” repeated he, impatiently. “ I 
haven’t time to hsten to your babbling. For 
heaven’s sake leave me in peace — this may become 
serious !” 

We felt that he must be obeyed. 

As we went up stairs, Lisbeth said . 

“ Did you see that unhappy creature, Frit- 
zel? Perhaps she’s going to die. Yet she is 
still thinking of that devihsh Kepublic ! Those 
people are real savages. All that we can do is 
to pray to God to pardon them.” 

Then she began to pray. I knew not what to 
think of all this, but after having run about so 
much, and wallowed in du-t, once in bed I slept 
so soundly that not even the return of the Ke- 
publicans themselves, with aU their platoons and 
battahon-firing, would have waked me before ten 
the next morning 


VI. 

The day after the depaiture of the Eepiibli- 
cans, everybody in the village knew that there 
was a French woman at Uncle Jacob’s house, 
who had received a pistol-shot, and was recov- 
ering very slowly. But the roofs of the houses, 
the doors and windows must be repaired, and 
each had enough business of his own to attend 
to, without troubling himself about the affairs of 
others, and it was not until the third day, when 
things were nearly all put in order again, that 
people began to think about the woman. Then 
Joseph Spick spread the news that the French 
woman had become raving, and cried, “ Long 
live the Kepubhc!” in a terrible manner. 

The scoundrel stood in the doorway of his inn. 
his arms crossed, leaning against the wall, pre- 
tending to smoke his pipe, and saying to the 
passers-by : 


MADAME THERESE. 


95 


“ Nickel — ^Yokel — listen ! — Glisten how she screams ! 
Isn’t it abominable? Ought we to allow this?” 

Uncle Jacob, the best man in the world, was 
so indignant with Spick, that I heard him say 
several times, that he deserved to be hung. Un- 
happily, we could not deny that the cantiniere 
spoke of France, of the Kepubhc, and other 
things contrary to good order. These ideas always 
returned to her mind, and we were the more 
embarrassed because aU the gossips, all the old 
Salomes of the village came in procession to our 
house ; one with her broom under her arm, and 
petticoat tucked up, — another with her knitting- 
needles in her hair, and cap awry ; a third 
bringing her spmning-wheel, with a sentimental 
air, as if to spin in the chimney-corner. This 
one came to borrow a gridiron, that one to buy 
a pot of curdled milk, or to ask for a httle 
yeast, to make bread. Wliat a shame ! Our 
passage was two inches deep in mud from their 
wooden shoes. And to hear them chatter while 
Lisbeth washed her dishes, or watched her pots; 
to see them come in, courtesying, and playing t!ie 
agreeable ! 

“Ah! good day, M’Ue Lisbeth. How long it 
is since I’ve seen you!” 


96 MADAME THERESE. 

“Ah, it’s M’Ue Oursoula! God of heaven! how 
glad I am to see you. Do sit down, M’Ue Our- 
soula 1” 

“Oh, 3'ou’re too good, too good! M’Ue Lis- 
beth! What beautiful weather, this morning!” 

“Yes, M’lle Oursoula — very fine weather — deh- 
cious weather for rheumatism.” 

“Delicious for colds, also.” 

“Ah, yes! and for all kinds of sickness. How 
is monsieur le cure's rheumatism, M’lle Oursoula?” 

“Oh, Lord! How should it be? Sometimes on 
one side — sometimes on the other. Yesterday in 
the shoulder— to-day in the back. So it moves 
about. Always suffering, always suffering!” 

“ Ah, I’m sorry to hear it— very soriy !” 

“But apropos, M’lle Lisbeth, you’ll call me very 
curious — they are talking about it aU over the 
village ; is your French lady still ill?” 

“ Ah, M’Ue Oursoula, don’t speak of it ; we’ve 
had such a night — such a night!” 

“Is it possible? That poor lady is no better? 
What do I hear?” 

And they would clasp their hands, and bend 
forward with an air of gxeat commiseration, roll- 
ing their eyes, and shaking their heads. 

The first two days, my uncle, thinking this 


MADAME TIIERESE. 


97 


would eiid when people’s curiosity was gratified, 
said nothing. But seeing that it still continued, 
he entered the kitchen abruptly, one fine morn- 
ing, when his patient had a great deal of fever 
and said to the old women, angrily : 

“ What do you come here for ? Why don’t you 
stay at home ? Have you no work in your 
houses? You ought to be ashamed to pass your 
lives in chattering hke old magpies, and giving 
yourselves the airs of great ladies, when you are 
nothing but servants. It is ridiculous, and I’m 
very tired of it !” 

“ But,” answered one, “ I came to buy a pot 
of milk.” 

“ Does it take two hours to buy a pot of 
milk? replied he, really angry. “Lisbeth, give 
her the pot of milk, and let her go with the 
others. I’m tired of all this. I shall allow no 
one to come here to spy, and take false news 
from my house to spread over the country. Go, 
and don’t come here again.” 

The gossips went off quite ashamed. 

That day my uncle had a great discussion. 
AI. Richter ventured to say to him that he was 
wrong to interest hims3lf so much in strangers, 
who came into the couiioiy to pillage, and above 


98 


MADAME TH^RESE. 


all in this woman, who could not be of much 
account, as she had followed the soldiers. He 
listened coldly, and answered : 

“M. Richter, when I do a humane act, I do 
not ask the person, ‘ From what country are 
you? Have you the same belief as I? Are you 
rich or poor? Can you pay me for what I have 
done for you?’ I follow’ the impulse of my heart, 
and the rest matters little. Whether this woman 
be French or German, whether she has Republi- 
can ideas or not, w^hether she has followed the 
soldiers of her own accord, or been forced to 
do so by necessity, does not trouble me. I saw 
that she was djdng ; my duty was to save her hfe. 
And now my duty is, with the help of God, to 
go on with w’hat I have undertaken. As to you, 
M. Richter, I know you are an egotist ; you do 
not love your fellow-creatures. Instead of render- 
ing them a service, you seek to gain some per- 
sonal advantage from them. This is the foundation 
of your opinion on all matters. And as such 
opinions make me angry, I beg that you will 
not enter my house again.” 

He opened the door, and as M. Richter wished 
to reply, without listening to him, he politely 
took him by the arm, and put him out. The 


MADAME THERESE. 


99 


mole-catclier, Koffel, and I were present, and 
Uncle Jacob’s firmness on this occasion astonished 
us ; we had never seen him more calm and 
resolute. He only kept the mole-catcher and 
Koffel for his friends. Each in turn watched 
with the patient, which did not prevent them from 
attending to their business during the day. 

From that time tranquillity was re-estabhshed 
in our house. 

One morning, on awaking, I found that winter 
had come. Its white hght filled my little room. 
Great snow-flakes were falhng from the sky in 
myriads — whirling against niy window-panes. All 
was stni outside ; not a soul was in the street ; 
everybody’s doors were closed ; the chickens were 
quiet ; the dogs looked out from their kennels, 
and in the neighboring thickets the poor green- 
finches, shivering under their ruffled feathers, 
uttered that plaintive cry of distress which lasts 
untd spring. I, with my elbow on my piUow, 
and my eyes dazzled, looked at the snow piled 
up on the edge of the little Tvindows, and pic- 
tured to myself past winters — the hght from our 
gTeat stove in the evenings, dancing on the floor, 
the mole-catcher, Koffel, and my uncle bending 
over it, smoking their pipes and talking of un* 


100 


3IADAME THtlRESE. 


important matters. I heard Lisbeth’s wheel buz- 
zing in the silence like the downy wings of a 
moth, and her foot keeping time to the song 
that the green log was singing on the hearth. 
Without, I pictured to myself the shdes on the 
river, the sleighing parties, the battle with snow- 
balls, the shouts of laughter, the broken window- 
panes, the old grandmother calling after us, while 
the band scampered away. All this came into my 
mind in a moment, and half sad, half glad, I 
said to myself, “It’s winter.” Then thiuking it 
would be pleasant to be sittiug ui front of the 
fire, eatiug some of Lisbeth’s good porridge, I 
sprang from my bed, and dressed myself quickly, 
feeling very chilly. Without taking time to put 
on both sleeves of my jacket, I went rolling 
down stairs like a ball. Lisbeth was sweeping 
the yard. The kitchen door was open, but des- 
pite the beautiful fire which danced around the 
pots, I hurried into the sitting-room. Uncle Jacob 
had just returned from a visit. His great riding- 
coat fined with foxes’ fur, and his otter-skin cap, 
hung on the waU, and his large boots were near 
the stove. He was taking a glass of kirachenwasser^ 


* Cherry-brandy. 




n 


so, MOLE CATCHER, THE NIGHT HAS PASSED WELL.” 






MADAME THDRESE. 


101 


with the mole-catcher, who had been watching that 
night. Both seemed in good spirits. 

“So, mole-catcher,” said my uncle, “the night 
has passed well?” 

“ Very well, doctor ; we’ve all slept ; the wo- 
man in her bed, I in the arm-chair, and the dog 
behind the curtain. Nobody has stirred. This 
morning, on opening the window, I saw the coun- 
try as white as Hans Wurst, when he comes out 
of his bag of flour ; all had been done without a 
sound. As I opened the window, you were com- 
ing up the street, and I wanted to caU out good 
morning, but the woman was still asleep, and I 
didn’t want to wake her.” 

“Well, well, you did right. To your health, 
mole-catcher.” 

“To yours, doctor.” 

They drained their httle glasses at a draught, 
and put them on the table, smiling. 

“All goes well,” said Uncle Jacob ; “the wound 
is closing ; the fever diminishes, but strength is 
still wanting; the poor thing has lost too much 
blood. But at last, at last, that will come right.” 

I sat down near the stove. The dog came from 
the alcove, and began to caress my uncle, whc 
said, lool^g at him : 


102 


MADAME THi:RESE. 


“ What a good animal ! See, mole-catcher 
t\’^ouldn’t you say that he understands us ? Doesn't 
he seem more joyous this morning? I cannot but 
believe that these animals understand some things 
very well ; if they have less judgment than we, 
they often have more heart.” 

“That’s true,” said the mole-catcher. “For my 
part, all the time the fever lasted, I would look 
at the dog and think ‘ He’s sad ; that’s a bad 
sign. He’s gay ; that’s a good sign !’ On my 
honor, I agree with you, doctor. I have great 
confidence in the understanding of animals.” 

“Come, mole-catcher, take another little glass, 
it’s cold out of doors, and the old kirschenwasser 
warms you like a ray of sunhght.” He opened 
the sideboard, took out a loaf of bread and two 
knives, and said, “Let us have a crust.” 

The mole-catcher nodded assent. My uncle, 
perceiving me, said, smilingly : 

“Well, Fritzel, snow-balls and slides have come 
again. Doesn’t that please you?” 

“Yes, uncle.” 

“Yes, yes, amuse yourself. One is never hap- 
pier than at your age, my boy. But above all, 
don’t make your snow-balls too hard. Those who 
make them too hard don’t want to amuse them- 


MADAME THJ^RB:SE. 


103 


selves, they want to do harm ; they’re bad boys.” 
“ Ah, doctor,” said the mole-catcher, laughing, 
“I always made my balls too hard.” 

“ And see how wrong you were ; that proves 
that there was a spice of malice in your natm'e. 
Happily reason has conquered that. I’m sure 
you repent of having made your balls too hard.” 

“ Oh yes,” said the mole-catcher, not knowing 
what to reply ; “although the rest made theirs 
too hard, too.” 

“We should never trouble ourselves about 
others. We must do what kindness commands. 
All men are naturally good and just ; but bad 
example leads them astray.” 

While we were talking, some words were heard 
in the alcove. We all became silent, and listened. 

“ That, mole-catcher, is not the voice of de- 
lirium,” said Uncle Jacob. “It’s a weak but 
natural voice.” 

He rose and drew aside the curtains. The 
mole-catcher and I stood behind him, stretchmg 
forward our heads. The woman, very pale and 
thin, seemed to be asleep ; we could hardly hear 
her breathe. But in a moment she opened her 
eyes, and looked from one to another in aston- 
ishment, then around the alcove, then at the 


104 


MADAME THilRESE. 


windows "white "with snow, at the chest of drawers 
the old clock, and at the dog, who stood witli 
his paws on the edge of the bed. At length 
she closed her eyes, and my imcle said, in a 
very low tone : 

“ She has come to herself.” 

“ Yes,” said the mole-catcher, “ she has seen 
us ; she doesn’t know us, and now she’s think- 
ing of what she has just seen.” 

We were going to -withdraw, when she re-opened 
her eyes, and made an effort to speak. But 
Uncle Jacob, raising his voice, said, kindly : 

“ Don’t agitate yourself, madam ; be calm ; have 
no uneasiness. You are with those who will let 
you want for nothing. You’ve been ill, but you’re 
getting better. But I beg you to have confidence 
—you’re among friends — true friends.” 

She looked at him -with her large black eyes, 
while he spoke. We could see that she under- 
stood him. But not-withstanding his ad-sdce, she 
tried to speak again, and said in a low voice : 

“The drummer — the httle drummer.” 

My uncle, looking at the mole-catcher, asked : 

“Do you understand her?” 

And the mole-catcher, putting his hand to hig 
head answered : 


MALHME THERESE. 


105 


“A lemnant of fever, doctor — a little remnant 
— it’ll pass off.” 

But the woman in a loud voice repeated — 

“Jean — the little drummer.” 

I was standing on tip-toe, very attentive, and 
it suddenly occuiTed to me that she was speak- 
ing of the httle drummer whom I had seen lying 
in our shed, the day of the great battle. I re- 
membered how she watched him from the win- 
dow, as she mended his httle pantaloons, and 
said ; 

“Uncle, perhaps she is speaking of the little 
drummer who was with the Kepubhcans.” 

The poor woman at once tried to turn toward 
me. 

“ Yes, yes !” cried she. “ Jean — my brother !” 

“ Be quiet, madame,” said my uncle. “ Don’t 
move ; your wound might re-open. Mole-catcher, 
bring a chair.” And taking me under the arms, he 
placed me on the chair before her, saying, 
“Tell madame what you kno.w, Fritzel. Do you 
remember the httle drummer?” 

“Oh yes! the morning of the battle he was 
lying under our shed ; the dog was at his feet. 
He was asleep. I remember him weU!” answered 
I, much disturbed, for she was looking at me aa 


106 


MADAME THtEESE. 


if she would search my very soul — ^just as shfe 
had looked at Uncle Jacob. 

“And then, Fritzel?” 

“Then he was with the other drummers in the 
midst of the battahon, when the Croats came. 
And at last, when they had set the street on 
fire, and the Republicans were leaving, I saw 
him in the rear.” 

“Wounded?” asked the woman, in a voice sc 
faint that we could hardly hear it. 

“Oh no! he had his drum on his shoulder, 
and was crying as he marched, and a larger 
l3oy was saying to him, ‘Courage, httle Jean, — 
courage!’ but he didn’t seem to hear him — his 
cheeks were wet with tears.” 

“ You are sure you saw him go away with them, 
Fritzel?” asked my uncle. 

“ Yes, uncle ; he made me sorry, and I watched 
him to the end of the village.” 

The cardiniere closed her eyes, and sobbed 
quietly. Tears flowed down her face, one after 
another, in silence. It was very sad, and uncle 
said, softly : 

“ Get down, Fritzel ; we must let her cry with- 
out hindrance.” 

But as I was getting down, she stretched out 


MADAME THERESE. 


107 


her hand, and drew me to her, murmuring 
something. Uncle Jacob understood her, and 
asked : 

“Do you wish to kiss the child?’ 

“Yes.” 

He held me toward her. She kissed me, sob- 
bing. Then I too began to cry. 

“ Well, well !” said my uncle. “ You must be 
calm now, madame ; you must try to sleep if you 
would get weU. You’U see your little brother 
again. Courage !” 

He took me out, and closed the curtains. The 
mole-catcher was walking up and down the room 
with long strides. His face was red, and he 
said : 

“ That’s a- good woman, doctor — an honest wo- 
man — let her be a Kepublican, or what you will. 
They who think the contrary are no better than 
scoundrels !” 

“Yes, she has a generous nature ; I knew it 
at once by her face. It is fortunate that Fritzel 
remembers the child. The poor woman was very 
anxious. I understand now why the name of 
Jean constantly recurred in her delirium. It is 
aU right, mole-catcher, it is all right — tears wiU 
soothe her.” 


108 


MADAME THERESE. 


They went out together. I heard them still 
talldng about her outside the door. And as I 
sat near the stove, wiping my eyes on my sleeve, 
I suddenly saw the dog near me, looking at me 
with great gentleness. He put his paw on my 
knee, and began to caress me. For the first 
time I took his great shaggy head between my 
hands without fear. It seemed as if we had been 
friends for a long time, and that I had never 
been afraid of him. Raising my eyes, T saw Uncle 
Jacob, who had just come in, and was watchiiig 
me, smiling. 

“ You see, Fritzel, that the poor animal loves 
you. He’ll foUow you now, for he’s found out 
that you have a kind heart.” 

And so it was ; from that day the dog no longer 
refused to accompany me ; on the contrary, he 
followed me gTavely all over the village, which 
made me prouder than Zapheri Schmouck with 
liis lancers’ pistol. He would sit near my chair, 
to eat from my plate, and do whatever I wishei. 


The sncw continued to fall that day and the 
following night. Every one thought that the 
mountain roads would be blocked up, and that we 
should see no more of the lancers nor the Eepub- 
hcans ; but a httle incident happened which served 
to show the sad consequences of war, and to make 
men reflect on the mishaps of this world. 

It was the day after that on which our patient 
had recovered her reason, between eight and nine 
in the morning. The kitchen door was open 
so that the stove might warm the sitting-room. I 
was standing by Lisbeth, who was churning butter 
near the hearth. Turning my head a httle I could 
see my uncle sitting by the window, which was white 
■with snow, reading the almanac and smiling occa- 
sionally. 

The dog Scipio was near me, grave and motion- 
less, and as I every minutr tasted the cream which 


110 


MADAME THERESE. 


was coming out of the churn, he gaped in a mel 
ancholy manner. 

“ But Fritzel,” said Lisbeth, “ what are you think- 
ing of? If you eat all the cream, we’U have no 
more butter.” 

The clock ticked slowly in the sitting-room ; 
out-of-doors the silence w^os perfect. 

This lasted for half an horn*, and Lisbeth had 
just put the fresh butter on a plate, when voices 
were heard in the street ; the gate opened, and 
feet covered with snow were stamped on the 
stones of the court. My uncle himg the alma- 
nac on the waU and looked towards the door, 
through which the burgomaster, Meyer, came in, 
wuth his cap of curled wool, with two tassels, 
drawn over his ears, the collar of his gxeat 
coat white with frost, and his hands enclosed in 
rabbit-skin mittens which reached to his elbows. 

“ Good-day, doctor, good-day,” said the large 
man. “ I come at a snowy time. But what 
of that ? It is necessary, it is necessary.” 

Then shaking his mittens, which hung from his 
neck by a string, he took off his cap and con- 
tinued : 

“A poor devil, doctor, is lying in Beebock’s 
wood-house behind a heap of fagots. He’s a sob 


MADAME THMESE. 


11 ) 


dier, or rather a corporal, or a captain. I don’t 
know exactly which. He must have crept in 
there to die quietly, during the fight. It will 
be necessary to hold an inquest. I can’t certi- 
fy of what the man died — that’s not part of my 
office.” 

“Well, burgomaster,” said Uncle Jacob, rising, 
“ I will go : but there must be one more witness.” 

“Michel Furst is outside, waiting at the gate. 
Wliat a snow ! what a snow ! up to one’s knees, 
doctor. It will be good for the crops, and for 
his majesty’s armies, who will go into quar- 
ters — God bless them ! I would rather they 
should go to Kaiserslautern than come here ; 
one never has a better friend than himself.” 

While the burgomaster indulged in these re- 
flections, my uncle was putting on his boots, 
great coat, and otter-skin cap. Then he said : 

“I am ready.” 

They went out, and despite the entreaties of 
Lisbeth, who wanted to keep me in, I hurried 
out, and followed them. I was seized with a 
curiosity to see the soldier. 

Uncle Jacob, the burgomaster, and Furst, were 
the only persons in the deserted streets ; but as 
they walked along, faces appeared at the endows, 


112 


MADAME THERESE. 


and doors were heard opening in the distance. 
People seeing the burgomaster, the doctor, and 
the garde-champetre * thought something extraor- 
dinary must have happened, and several even 
came out, but, not finding out anything, went in 
again immediately. 

Arriving at E-eebock’s house, one of the old- 
est in the village, mth barn, stables, and shed in 
the fields behind, and thatched cowhouses with 
mouldy roofs on the right, — the burgomaster, 
Furst, and my uncle, entered the httle gloomy 
passage paved with broken flag-stones. 

I followed unperceived. 

Old Eeebock, who had seen them pass his 
windows, opened the door of the sitting-room, 
which was as full of smoke as a steam-bath, 
where the old grandmother, her two sons, and 
two daughters-in-law sat. 

Their dog, with long gTay hair and tail drag- 
ging on the ground, came out, also, and smelt 
Scipio, who followed me, holding himself proudly 
while the other walked around hiip, trying to 
make his acquaintance. 

“I’ll show you the way,” said old Eeebock— 
“ it’s there — ^inside — behind the barn.” 

♦ An officer who has charge of the fields. 


MADAME THEEESE. 


113 


“No, stay here, Father Eeebock,” said Uncle 
Jacob, “it’s chilly, and you are old — ^your son will 
show us the way.” 

But the son, after discoveiing the soldier, had 
ran away. 

The old man went before ; we followed in file. 
It was very dark in the passage. In passing 
we saw the cow-house lighted by a pane of 
glass ill the roof, five goats with full udders, 
who looked at us with their golden brown eyes, 
and two kids who began to cry in a shrill, 
plaintive voice ; then the stable ; tw^o oxen and 
the cow, with their worm-eaten racks and litter 
of dead leaves. 

The animals turned quietly round. We walked 
along the wall : something roUed under my feet. 
It was a rabbit which disappeared under the 
manger. Scipio did not stir. 

Then we came to the barn, low, filled with 
hay and straw to the roof. Inside we saw a 
window of bluish glass opening in the garden ; 
the Hght from it fell upon a great pile of logs 
and some fagots heaped against the wall ; be- 
low aU was dark. 

Strange to say, in the window were a cock 
and tw^o or thi-ee hens, their heads mider their 


114 


MADAME THERESE. 


wings, who stood out black against the light. 
I could not see much at first, on account of 

the gloom. We all stopped. The hens gave a 
low cackle. 

“Perhaps I should have lighted the lantern.* 
said old Peebock : “we can’t see very well.” 

As he spoke, I saw to the right of the win 
dow, against the wall, between two fagots, a 

large red cloak : then looking closer, a dark 

head and yellowish moustache; the cock jumped 
down from the window and made it lighter. 

I was seized with fear. Had I not felt 
Scipio against my leg, I should have run away. 

“I see,” said my imcle, “I seel” And he ap- 
proached, saying : “ It is a Croat. Let us see — 
Furst, we must draw him forward a little.” 

But neither Furst nor the burgomaster moved. 

My uncle drew the man by the leg, so 

that the light fell upon him. He had a red 
head, sunken eyes, pinched nose, compressed lips, 
and a reddish tuft on his chin. Uncle Jacob 
unbuckled his cloak, throwing the folds over 
the wood, and we saw that the Croat held a sabre 
with a long blue curved blade. On his left side 
a large black spot showed that he had bled 
there. My uncle unbuttoned his vest and said : 


MADAME the RES E. 


115 


“He died of a bayonet-stroke, doubtless during 
the last encounter. He must have withdi-awn 
from the contest. Father Reebock, what aston- 
ishes me, is that he did not knock at your door, 
and that he came so far to die.” 

“We were all hidden in the cellar,” said the 
old man ; “ the door of the room was shut. 

We heard some one running in the passage, but 
there was so much noise outside. I beheve the 
poor man wanted to escape through the house ; 
unfortunately there is no back door. A Repub- 
hcan must have followed him like a wild beast 
as far as the barn. We’ve seen no blood in the 
passage ; it is here in the darkness that they 
must have fought, and the Frenchman, after giv- 
ing him this bad blow, must have gone quietly 
away. This is what I think ; otherwise we 
should have found blood somewhere. But no 
one has seen any, either in the stable or the 
cowhouse. It was not till this morning, w'hen 
we needed some large wood for the stove, that 
S^pel, going into the woodhouso, discovered the 
unfortunate man.” 

As we listened to this explanation, we pic- 
tured to ourselves the Republican with his great 
i|ucue, like a black sausage, and his large pointed 


116 


MABAME THERESE. 


liat, pursuing tlie Croat in tlie darkness, and it 
made one tremble. 

“Yes,” said Tjncle Jacob, rising, and looking at 
the burgomaster, sadly, “that’s the way it must 
have happened.” 

All became thoughtful. The silence near the 
dead body chilled me. 

“Now the inquest is over,” said my uncle, in 
a moment, “we can go.” Then, be-thinking him- 
self, “ Perhaps there may be some means of finding 
out who this man is.” 

He knelt again, put his hand into the man’s 
pocket, and drew out some papers. Then he pulled 
a httle copper chain that crossed his breast, and drew 
a large silver watch from the fob of his pantaloons. 

“ Take the watch,” he said to the burgomaster 
“ I’ll keep the papers until I’ve written the cer- 
tificate.” 

“ Keep everything, doctor,” said the burgomas- 
ter. “ I don’t lilie to carry into my house a 
watch which has akeady marked the death of 
one of God’s creatures — no, keep everything. 
Later, we’ll talk of this agam. Now, let us go.’ 

“ Yes, and you may send Jefier.” 

Then my uncle, perceiving me, said : 

“ You here, Pritzel ? Must you then see every- 
thing ?” 


MADAME THERESE. m 

He made no other reproach, and we went home 
together. The burgomaster and Fm-st went to 
their homes. As we walked along, Uncle Jacob 
read the Croat’s papers. Opening the door of our 
room, we saw that the woman had just taken 
some broth ; the curtains were stih open and 
the plate on the table. 

“Well, madame,” said my uncle, smiling, “you’re 
getting better.” 

She had turned and was looking at him grate- 
fully with her large black eyes. 

“Yes, doctor, you have saved me. I feel that 
I’m recovering.” Then, in a second, she added in 
a tone full of compassion — “You have just found 
another unfortunate victim of war.” 

My uncle knew then that she had overheard 
the conversation when the burgomaster came^ for 
him half an hour before. 

“It is true, it is true^ madame ; another un- 
fortunate creature who will never more see his 
home ; another poor mother who will never again 
embrace her son.” 

She seemed moved, and asked in a low voice ; 

“Is it one of our men?” 

“ No, madame ; he is a Croat. I have just 
been reading a letter that his mother vrote him 


118 


MADAME TItAeESE. 


tliree weeks ago. The poor woman begs him not 
to forget his prayers night and morning, and to 
do right. She speaks to him with tenderness, as 
if he were a child. Yet he was an old soldier ; 
but doubtless she saw him still fresh and fair as 
on the day when, for the last time, she embraced 
him, sobbing.” 

My uncle’s voice, as he said this, was very touch- 
ing. He looked at the woman, who also seemed 
much moved. 

“ Yes, you are right,” said she, “ it must be 
dreadful to know that a child will never come 
back again. I, at least, have the consolation of 
no longer causing such suffering to those who 
loved me.” 

She turned away her head, and my uncle, who 
had become very grave, asked her : 

“Yet you are not alone in the world?” 

“I have neither father nor mother,” said she, 
sadly ; “ my father was commander of the battahon 
that you saw. I had three brothers. We all came 
away together in ’92 from Fenetrange in Lor- 
raine. Three are now dead ; my father and two 
eldest brothers ; only I, and Jean the httle drum- 
mer, are left.” As she said this, she seemed ready 
to bm-st into tears. Uncle Jacol>. his head bent 


MADAME THERESE. 


119 


forward, liis arms crossed on his back, walked up 
and down the room. Again all was silent. Sud- 
denly the French woman said : “ I have something 
to ask you, doctor.” 

“ WTiat, madame ?” 

“Write to the mother of the unfortunate Croat. 
It is terrible, no doubt, to hear of the death of 
a son, but to be always expecting him, to hope 
for years that he will return, and yet never to 
see him — even at one’s last hour, that must be 
more cruel still.” 

She ceased, and my uncle said, thoughtful- 

ly : 

“ Yes, yes, it is a good thought. Fritzel, bring 
the ink and paper. What a terrible thing, my 
God ! To think that writing such news to a 
mother should be considered a good deed. Oh 
war ! war !” 

He sat down and began to vfrite. Lisbeth came 
in to lay the cloth. She put the plates and loaf 
on the sideboard. Tw'elve o’clock struck. The 
cantiniere seemed to be sleeping. Uncle Jacob 
finished his letter, folded, sealed, and addressed 
it, and said to me : 

“ Go, Fritzel, put this letter into the box, and 
hm-ry. Ask for the newspaper at Mother Eber- 


120 MADAME THERESE. 

hardt’s. It s Saturday ; there must be news cf 
the war.” 

I ran out, and put the letter in the village 
box. But the newspaper had not come. Cle- 
mentz had been delayed by the snow, which did 
not surprise my uncle, as such things happened 
nearly every whiter. 


Till 

Returning from the post-office, I saw at a <lis 
taiice, in the large meadow behind the church 
Hans Aden, Frantz Sepel, and many of my other 
comrades, shding on the pond. I conld see a 
whole row of them give a sudden spring, and glide 
olf hke arrows, bending forward, their arms extend- 
ed in the air to preserve their equilibrium, and I 
heard the prolonged whir of their wooden shoes 
on the ice, and their shouts of joy. 

How my heart bounded as I watched them ! 
How I wished that I could join them! Unfor- 
tunately Uncle Jacob was waiting for me, and I 
went in with my head full of this joyous sight. 
All the time we were at dinner, the idea of 
running down to the meadow never left me for 
a second ; but I was very careful not to siieak 
of it to my uncle, for he always forbade my 
sliding on the pond for fear of accidents. 


122 


MADAME THERESE. 

At last he went out to visit the cure, who was 
suffering from rheumatism. I waited until he had 
reached the main street, and then whistled to 
Scipio, and ran like a hare to Holly Lane. The dog 
bounded after me, and it was not until we reached 
the httle lane full of snow, that we stopped to 
take breath. I thought I should find my com- 
rades on the pond, but they had gone to dinner. 
On turning the corner of the church, I only saw the 
great deserted shdes. I therefore had to shde alone, 
and as it was cold, I had enough of it in half an 
hour. I was returning to the village, when Hans 
Aden, Frantz Sepel, a-nd tw^o or three others, 
with red cheeks, cotton caps drawn over their 
ears, and hands in their pockets, came out from 
the hedges covered with snow. 

“ Is it you, Fritzel ?” said Hans. “ Are you going 
away ?” 

“Yes. I’ve just been shding, and Uncle Jacob 
doesn’t want me to slide. I’d rather go home.” 

“I split my shoe on the ice this morning,” 
said Frantz, “ and my father has mended it. 
Look !” 

He took off his shoe and showed it to us. 
His father had put a band of iron across it, 
fastened by four great nails, with pointed heads. 


MADAME THERESE. 


128 


This made us laugh, and Frantz cried : 

“There! that isn’t very fine for sliding! Lis- 
ten : let us go in a sled up the Altenbeig, and 
we’ll come down hke the wind.” 

The idea of going in a sled seemed to me so 
magnificent, that I already saw myself on one, 
rushing down the hill, and guiding it with my 
heels, crying, in a voice which reached the clouds, 
Him melsfarth ! Himmelsfarth T I was enchanted 
with the idea. 

“ Yes,” said Hans Aden, “ but how are we to 
get a sled?” 

“Leave that to me,” rephed Frantz Sepel, the 
most mischievous of us all. “Father had one last 
year, but it was all worm-eaten, and grandmother 
made fire-wood of it. But it’s all the same. 
Come on.” 

We followed him, full of doubt and hope. As 
we went down the street, we stopped before every 
shed, and looked up with envious eyes at the 
sleds hanging from the beams. 

“There’s a beautiful sled!’* said one; it could 
hold us all, easily.” 

“Yes,” answered another, “but it would be too 
heavy to di’ag up the hill; it is made of green 
wood.” 


124 


MADAME THEBESE. 


“Ah,” said Hans Aden, “but we’d take it for 
all that, if Father Gitzig would lend it to us. 
But he’s a miser. He keeps his sled for hhn- 
self alone ; as if sleds could wear out !” 

“ Come on !” cried Frantz Sepel, who was in 
advance. All the paidy started again. From time 
to time they glanced at Scipio, who kept near 
me. 

“You have a fine dog,” said Hans, “he’s a 
French dog. They have wool hke sheep, and let 
you shear them without saying a word.” 

Frantz declared that he had seen, the year be- 
fore, at the fair at Kaiserslautern, a French dog 
who wore glasses, and counted on a drum up 
to a hundred. He guessed all sorts of things, 
and Grandmother Anne thought he must be a 
sorcerer. 

Scipio stopped and looked at us during this 
speech. I was very proud of him. Little Karl, 
the weaver’s son, said that if Scipio were a sor- 
eerer^ he could get a sled for us ; but it would 
be necessary to give him our souls in exchange, 
and not one of us wanted to give him his soul. 

So we went on from house to house, and the 
church clock was striking two, when M. Richter 
passed us cn his sled, crying to his great lean 


MADAME THAEESE. 


125 


horss, “Get up! Charlotte, get up!” The poor 
beast strained every nerve. M. Eichter, contrary 
to his custom, seemed very merry. As he passed 
the butcher Sepel’s house, he cried, “Good news, 
Sepel, good news!” He cracked his whip, and 
Hans said : 

“M. Eichter’s a httle fuddled. He must have 
found, somewhere, some wine which didn’t cost 
him anything.” 

We laughed loudly at this; for aU in the village 
knew that M. Eichter was a miser. We had 
reached the end of the street where «tood the 
house of Father Adam Schmitt, an old soldier of 
Frederic II., who received a httle pension to buy 
bread, and tobacco, and occasionally schnapps. 
He had been in the Seven Years’ Warj a»3d in all 
the campaigns of Silesia and Pomerania. He was 
veiy old now, and since his sister Eoesel’s 
death, hved alone in the last house of the vil- 
lage — a httle thatched house, having only one 
room below, one above, and the roof with its 
two attic windows. There was also a shed on one 
side, a pig-sty behind, and a little garden in 
front, surrounded by a quick-set hedge, which 
Father Schmitt cultivated with care. 

Uncle Jacob liked this old soldier ; sometimea, 


126 


MADAME THERESE, 


when he saw him passing the housej he would 
tap on the window-pane, and cry, ‘^Come in, 
Adam !” He always came in, knowing that uncle 
had real French cognac in a cupboard, and that 
he called him in to offer him a little glass. 

We stopped, then, before his house, and Frantz, 
leaning on the hedge, said : 

“ Look at that sled I I bet Father Schmitt wiU 
lend it to us, if Fritzel goes in boldly, puts his 
hand beside the old man’s ear, and says, ‘Fathei 
Adam, wHl you lend us your sled?’ Yes, I bet 
he’ll lend it to us ; I’m sure of it — only we 
must be bold!” 

I became very red. I looked at the sled with 
one eye, and with the other at the little low 
window on a level with the ground. All my 
comrades stood at the corner of the house, push- 
ing me forward by the shoulder, saying : 

“Go in, he’ll lend it to you!” 

“I dare not,” said I, speaking very low. 

“ You haven’t any courage,” replied Hans Aden ; 
“if I were in yoTir place, I’d go in at once.” 

“Let me look in, a little, and see if he’s in 
good humor.” 

Then I peeped in at the little window, and 
sa^w Father Schmitt sitting on a stool before tho 


MADAME TUERESE. 


127 


stone hearth, on which a few coals burned amid 
a heap of ashes. His back was turned toward 
me. I could see only liis long figure and stoop- 
ing shoulders, his little blue cloth jacket, too short 
to reach the coarse gTay linen pantaloons, his 
white hair falling on his neck, the blue cotton 
cap, with a little tassel in front, the large red 
ears standing out from his head, and great wooden 
shoes resting on the stove hearth. He was smot- 
ing his clay pipe, the bowl of which I could see 
projecting a little beyond his sunburnt cheek. 
This is all I saw beside the broken flag-stones 
of the floor, and on the left, a sort of manger 
filled with straw. These observations did not in- 
spire me with much confidence, and I tried tc 
escape ; but the others pushed me into the entry, 
saying, in low voices : 

“Fritzel — Fritzel — he’ll lend it to you, I’m 
suie !” 

“No.” 

“ Yes.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

But Hans Aden had opened the door, and 1 
was already in the room with Scipio, the others 
behind me, with wide-open eyes, staring and 
listening. Oh, how I wished I could escape ! 


128 


MABAME TH£RESE, 


Unfortunately, Frantz Sepel, outside, held the door 
half closed. There was room only for his head, 
and Hans Aden’s, who stood on tip-toe behind 
him. Old Schmitt had turned round. 

“Why, it’s Fritzel!” said he, rising. “What’s 
the matter ?” 

He opened the door, and all the party fled hke 
a flock of sparrows. I was left alone. The old 
soldier looked at me much astonished. 

“What do you want, Fritzel?” asked he, taking 
a coal from the hearth to re-Hght his pipe, which 
had gone out. Then seeing Scipio, he contem- 
plated him gravely, blowing great puffs of smoke. 
T had recovered my confidence a little. 

“Father Schmitt,” said I, “The boys want me 
to ask you for your sled, to ride down the Alten- 
berg.” 

The old soldier, who was opposite the dog, 
winked and smiled. Instead of replying, he rubbed 
his ear, raising his cap, and asked : 

“Is that your dog, Fritzel?” 

“ Yes, Father Adam ; he belongs to the woman 
who is at our house.” 

“Ah, good! he must be a soldier’s dog. He 
must know the drill.” 

Scipio was watching us, with nose upturned 


1 




SHOULDER ARMS. 









MADAME THERESE. 129 

aid Futher Schmitt, taking his pipe from his 
mouth, said : 

“He’s a dog of the regiment. He looks hki 
old Michel, whom we had in Silesia.” Then 
raising his pipe, he cried : “ Shoulder arms !” in 
a voice so loud that it resounded through the 
whole house. But what was my surprise to see 
Scipio sit on his hind legs, his fore legs hang- 
ing down, and carrying himself like a real soldier. 

“Ha! ha! ha!” cried old Schmitt, “I was sure 
of it!” 

My comrades had all come back. Some were 
looking in through the half-open door, some through 
the window. Scipio did not stir, and Father 
Schmitt, as joyous as he had seemed grave be- 
fore, said : 

“Attention, march!” Then imitating the sound 
of a drum, he marched backward on his great 
wooden shoes, and began to cry “ March ! Pan — 
pan — rataplan. One — two. One — two !” 

And Scipio marched with astonishing gravity, 
his long ears on his shoulders, and his tail 
curled. It was marvellous. My heart leaped. All 
fche others were speechless with admiration. 

“Halt!” cried Schmitt, and Scipio halted. 

Then I thought no more of the sled ; I was 


130 


MiiDAME THERESE. 


so proud of Scipio’s talents, that I would have 
run home and exclaimed to my uncle, “We have 
a dog who can drill!” But Hans Aden, Brantz 
Sepel, and all the rest, encouraged by the old sol- 
dier’s good humor, had come in, and were standing 
there in ecstasy, their backs against the door, 
their caps under their arms. 

“ In place, rest I” cried Father Schmitt, and 
Scipio came down on his four paws, shaking his 
head, and scratching his neck with his hind leg, 
as if to say, “ A flea has been biting me for 
two minutes, but one dares not scratch himself 
while under arms!” 

I was speechless with joy at seeing these per- 
formances, and dared not call Scipio for fear of 
making him ashamed. But he placed himself near 
me, modestly, which overwhelmed me with satis- 
faction. I considered myself in some soH, a field- 
marshal at the head of his armies. All the others 
envied me. 

Father Schmitt looked at Scipio with emotion. 
We could see that he was recalhng his soldier life. 

“Yes,” said he, in a few minutes, “he’s a true 
soldier’s dog. But let us see if he understands 
politics, for very few d)gs understand politics.” 
He took a stick from behind the door, and held 


MADAME THER^JSE. 


131 


it crosswise, crying, “Attention to the word oi 
command !” Scipio was already in readiness. 

“Jump for the Kepubhc!” cried the old sol- 
dier, and Scipio leaped over the stick like a stag. 

“Jump for General Hoche!” Scipio jumped. 

“Jump for the King of Prussia!” But then he 
seated himself on his tail very firmly, and the 
old man began to laugh quietly, his eyes half 
shut, saying, 

“Yes, he understands politics — ha! ha! ha! 
Come!” He passed his hand over the dog’s head, 
and Scipio seemed very happy. 

“Fritzel, you have a dog worth his weight in 
gold ; he’s a true soldier’s dog.” And looking at 
all of us, he added, “I’m going to lend you my 
sled, since you have such a good dog ; but you 
must bring it back at five o’clock, and take care 
not to break your necks.” 

He went out with us, and took his sled from 
the shed. My mind was divided between going 
to announce to my uncle Scipio’s extraordinary 
talents, and riding down the Altenberg on our 
sled. But when I saw Hans Aden, Frantz Sepel, 
and all my companions, some before, some behind, 
pushing and pulling, galloping in ecstasy, I could 
not resist the pleasure of joining the part;y. 


132 


MALAME THERESE. 


Sclimitt watched us from tlie door : 

“Take care not to upset,” said he, again. 

Then he went in, while we marched along in 
the snow. Scipio leaped at my side. I leave 
you to imagine our joy, our screams and shouts 
of laughter, as we went up the hill. 

And when we were at the top, Hans Aden in 
front, his hands chnging to the sides of the sled, 
the rest behind, three together, Scipio in the 
middle, and the sled suddenly started, jolting in the 
ruts, and spinning over the slopes — what delight ! 

Ah ! we are never young but once. 

The sled had hardly started, when Scipio 
sprang with one bound over our heads. He 
would rather run, leap, bark, roll in the snow 
like a child, than go in a sled. But this did 
not prevent us from retaining gi'eat respect for 
his talents. Every time we went up, and he 
walked near us, full of dignity, first one, then 
the other would tm*n round, as we pushed our 
sled, and say : 

“You’re very fortunate, Eritzel, to have such a 
dog. Adam Schmitt says he’s worth his weight 
in gold.” 

“Yes, but he doesn’t belong to them,” cried an 
other, “ he’s the woman’s.” 


133 


3IA DAME THERE8E. 

The idea that he was the woman’s dog, dis- 
tui’bed me very much, and I thought, “I hope 
they’ll both stay at our house !” 

We continued to go up and down the hill 
until nearly four oclock. Then night began to 
fall, and we remembered our promise to Father 
Schmitt, and returned to the village. As we 
drew near the old soldier’s house we saw him 
standing at his door. He had heard us laugh- 
ing and talking at a distance. 

“ Here you are,” cried he ; “ nobody’s hurt ?” 

“No, Father Schmitt.” 

“ So much the better.” 

He put his sled under the shed, and I ran off 
without saying “ good-day,” or “ good-night, * 
eager to announce to my uncle what a dog we 
had the honor of possessing. This idea made me 
so happy that I was home before I knew it. 
Scipio was at my heels. 

“Uncle Jacob!” cried I, opening the door, 
“Scipio knows how to drill! Father Schmitt saw 
at once that he was a real soldier’s dog. He 
made him march on his hind legs like a grena- 
dier, only saying to him ‘One! two!’” 

My uncle was reading behind the stove. See- 
ing me so enthusiastic, he put his book on the 


134 


MADAME THEUkSE. 


mantel-piece, and said with an air of astonish 
ment — 

“Is it possible, Fritzel?” 

“Yes,” cried I, “and he understands pohtics, 
too : he leaps for the Repubhc and for General 
Hoche, but he won’t leap for the King of Prus- 
sia.” 

My uncle laughed, and looked at the woman, 
who was also smiling, in the alcove, her elbow 
on the pillow. 

“ Madame Therese,” said he, gravely, “ you 
have not spoken of the remarkable talents of your 
dog. Is it true that Scipio knows so many fine 
things?” 

“It is true, doctor,” she said, caressing the 
dog, who had approached the bed, and stretched 
out his head to her, joyfully, “Yes, he knows 
aU that, — ^he was the amusement of the regiment. 
Little Jean taught him something new every day. 
Isn’t it so, my poor Scipio? Didn’t you play at 
drogue , shake the dice for good luck, and beat 
the reveille? How many times have our father 
and two elder brothers, when we halted for the 
night, been delighted to see you mount guard? 
You made everybody laugh by your air oi 


♦ Gteme played by soldiers and sailors. 


MADAME TIimESE. 


135 


gravity and your accomplishments ; we forgot 
the fatigue of the march as we gathered around 
you, and laughed heartily !” 

She said this in a tender voice, and was much 
moved, although smiling a httle, 

Scipio had straightened himself up, his paws 
on the edge of the bed, to listen to this 
praise. 

But TJncle Jacob, seeing that Madame Theresc 
became more and more agitated by tnese remem- 
brances, feared they w^ould do her harm, and 
said — 

“I’m very glad, Fritzel, that Scipio knows how 
to drill, and understands politics; but what have 
you been doing since noon?” 

“ We’ve been on a sled up the Altenberg, 
Father Adam lent us his sled.” 

“That’s very weU, but all these doings have 
made us forget M. de Buffon and Klopstock. If 
this continues, Scipio 'v^dll soon know more than 
you. 

He rose and took from the bureau Buf- 
fon’s Natural History, and put the candle on the 
the table. “ Come, Fritzel,” said he, smihng at my 
long face, for I was wishing I had not returned 
BO soon, “Cornel” 


136 


MADAME THDRESE. 


He sat down and took me on his knee. It 
seemed very hard to return to M. de Buffon 
after eight days’ hohday ; but my uncle had so 
much patience that I was forced to have some 
also, and we began our French lesson. It lasted 
an hour, until Lisbeth came to lay the cloth. 
Then we turned round, and saw that Madame 
Therese was dozing. My uncle closed the book 
and drew the curtains, while Lisbeth arranged 
the dishes. 


rx. 

I'HAT evening, after supper, Uncle Jacob smoked 
his pipe in silence behind the stove. 1 sat be- 
fore it, drying my pantaloons, Scipio’s head be- 
tween my knees, and watched the red firehght 
dancing on the floor. Lisbeth had taken away 
the candle as usual ; we were in darkness ; the 
fii-e burned briskly, as it does in very cold 
weather, the clock ticked slowly, and we could 
hear the old servant in the kitchen washing her 
dishes in the sink. 

How many thoughts passed through my head, 
then! Sometimes I thought of the dead soldier 
in Reebock’s barn, and the black cock in the 
window. Sometimes of Father Schmitt making 
Scipio go through the drill ; then of the Alten- 
berg and our descent on the sled. It aU came 
back to me like a dream ; the plaintive mur- 


138 


MADAME THtEESE. 


mur of the fire seemed to me the music of these 
remembrances, and I felt my eyes close softly. 

About half an hour afterward I was awakened 
by the sound of steps in the alley ; the door opened, 
and the mole-catcher’s cheerful voice said : 

“Snow, doctor, snow! It’s begun to fall again. 
We shall have it all night.” 

Uncle must have been dozing, for a minute 
passed before I heard him move, and answer : 

“What would you have, mole-catcher? This is 
the season. We must expect it now.” 

Then he rose and went into the kitchen for a 
hght. 

The mole-catcher drew near. 

“ How, Fritzel here 1” said he. “ You not asleep 
yet?” 

My uncle returned. I turned my head and saw 
that the mole-catcher had his winter clothes on ; 
his old cap of martin’s fur, — the worn-out tail 
hanging down his back ; his goat-skin jacket, — 
the hair inside, — his red waistcoat with pockets 
hanging loosely on his hips, and old brown velvet 
breeches, adorned with patches on the knees. He 
was smihng, half-shutting his small eyes, and hold- 
something under his arm. 

“ Have you come for the Gazette, mole-catcher ?’ 


MADAME THERESE. 


139 


asked Uncle Jacob. “ It didn’t come this morning 
The messenger is behindhand. 

“No, doctor, no. I’ve come for something else.’' 

He placed on the table an old square book, with 
a wooden cover at least quarter of an inch thick, 
and covered with large brass ornaments, represent- 
ing vine leaves. The edges were all blackened and 
greasy with age, and from each page hung strings 
and threads to mark the right places. 

“ See why I’ve come !” said the mole-catcher, “ I 
don’t need news ; when I want to know what’a 
going on in the world, I open, and look.” 

Then he smiled and his long yeUow teeth 
showed themselves under the four hairs of his 
moustache, slender as needles. 

My uncle said nothing, but drew the table near 
the stove, and sat down in his corner. 

“ Yes,” continued the mole-catcher, “ everything’s 
in that, but one must understand — one must un- 
stand !’ touching his head dreamily. “ The letters 
are nothing, it’s the spirit — the spirit that one must 
understand.” 

Then he seated himself in the arm-chair, and 
took the book in his lap, with a sort of vener- 
ation ; he opened it, and said, while my undo 
looked at him : 


liO MADAME THERESE. 

“Doctor, Tve told you a hundred times about 
the book of my Aunt Koesel of Heming ; well, 
to-day I have brought it, to show you the past, 
the present, and the future. You will see i 
You vdll see! AU that has happened during the 
last four years, was written beforehand. I knew 
it well, but I wouldn’t tell it because of that 
Kichter, who would have laughed at me, for he 
can’t see farther than the end of his nose. And 
the future, also, is here ; but I will only explain 
it to you, doctor, who are a sensible, reasonable, 
clear-sighted man. This is why I have come.” 

“ Listen, mole-catcher,” rephed Uncle Jacob. 

‘ I know very well that all is mystery in this 
lower world, and I am not conceited enough to 
refuse to beheve in predictions and miracles related 
by such wise authors as Moses, Herodotus, Thucy- 
dides, Livy, and many others. But nevertheless, 
I respect the will of God too much to wish to 
penetrate the secrets hidden by His infinite wis- 
dom. I would rather see in your book the 
accomphshment of things already past, than the 
future. That will be clearer, too.” 

“Well, well, you shall know everything!” said 
Bie mole-catcher, satisfied with my uncle’s grave 
manner. He pulled his chair toward the table. 


MADAME THERESE. 


MX 

and leaned the book on the edge, then rummag- 
ing in his pocket, drew out a pair of old brass 
spectacles, and put them on his nose, which gave 
him a very fantastic appearance. My interest may 
be imagined. I too had approached the table, and 
leaning my elbows upon it, my chin in my handS; 
I watched him, holding my breath, my eyes star- 
ing from my head. 

This scene will always be present to me ; the 
perfect silence of the room, the ticking of the 
clock, the murmur of the fire, the candle like a 
star in the midst of us ; opposite me my uncle 
in his dark corner, Scipio at my feet ; then the 
mole-catcher bending over his book of predictions, 
and behind him the httle black window-panes, 
where the snow was falling in the darkness ; I 
see it all again, and it even seems as if I can 
hear the voice of the poor old mole-catcher, and 
that of good Uncle Jacob, both of whom have 
been so long in their graves. It was a strange 
scene. 

“How, mole-catcher,” said my uncle, “you need 
glasses at your age? I thought your sight was 
excellent.” 

“I don’t need them to read ordinary thingr, 
nor to see out-of-doors ; I have good eyes. From 


142 


3IADAME TII£EJESE. 


here I can see, in the spring, a nest of cater 
pillars in the trees on the side of the Altenberj^f 
But these glasses belonged to my Aunt Boesel 
of Heming, and it’s necessary to have them on 
to understand this book. Sometimes they trouble 
me, but I read over them or under them. The 
principal thing is to have them on my nose.” 

“Ah, that’s different, very different!” said my 
uncle, seriously, for he was too kind-hearted to 
let the mole-catcher see that he was astonished. 

The mole-catcher began to read: “‘A. D. 1793. 
— The gTass is dry, the flower has fallen, because 
the wind has blown upon it.’ That means that 
it is winter ; the grass is diy, the flower has 
fallen because the wind has blown upon it.” 

My uncle nodded, and he continued : 

“ ‘ The isles saw, and were seized with fear . 
the ends of the earth were afraid; they approached, 
and entered.’ That, doctor, means that England 
and even the farthest isles of the sea have become 
alarmed because of the Eepublicans. ‘They ap- 
proached and entered.’ Everybody knows that the 
English have landed in Belgium to fight the 
French. But listen carefully to the rest. ‘In that 
tim.e the leaders of the people will be like a fire 
in the midst of woods, and like a torch in the 


MADAME THERESE, 


143 


midst of sheaves. They udll ravage the country 
right and left.” 

The mole-catcher thfji raised his finger gravely, 
and said : 

“ These are the kings and emperors who advance 
in the midst of their armies, and destroy every- 
thing in the countries which they cross. Unhappily* 
we know these things from having seen them* 
Our poor village will remember them a long time.” 

And as Uncle Jacob did not answer, he con- 
tinued : 

“‘In that time, woe to the unfaithful shepherd 
who shall abandon his flock; the sword will fall 
from his hand, and his right eye will be entii-ely 
darkened.’ We see in these words the Bishop of 
Mayence, with his nurse and five mistresses, who 
made his escape last year on the aiiival of Gen- 
eral Custine. He was truly an unfaithful shep- 
herd, who caused scandal throughout the country ; 
nis arm is withered, and his right eye is dark- 
ened.” 

“But,” said my uncle, “remember, mole-catcher, 
that this bishop was not the only one, there were 
many more who behaved in the same manner, in 
Germany, France, Italy, and everywhere.” 

The more reason, doctor ; the )>ook speaks for 


144 


MADAME THERESE. 


all the world ; “ ‘ for/ said he, placing his finger cn 
the page, ‘ for, in that time, said the Eternal, I 
will take away from the world, false prophets, 
doers of miracles, and the spirit of impurity/ 
What can that mean. Dr. Jacob, but all these 
men who talk incessantly of loving our neighbors, 
to obtain our money ; who beheve nothing, and 
menace us with heU; who dress in purple and 
gold, and preach humility to us ; who say, ‘ SeU 
aU your goods, and follow Christ,* and heap up 
riches upon riches in their palaces and convents ; 
who recommend faith to us, and laugh among 
themselves at the fools who listen to them? Isn’t 
that the spirit of impurity?” 

“Yes,” said Uncle Jacob, “it is abominable.” 

“Well, it is for them, for all the bad shepherds, 
that these things are written.” 

Then he continued : 

“‘In that time, there will be on the mountains, 
the noise of a multitude — of a great people who 
are rising — ^the noise of an assembled nation. The 
peoples round about wHl hear, and every man’s 
heart will soften. And the haughty will be fright- 
ened. The world will be in travail ;• the good 
will look at each other with burnmg faces ; they 
wHl hear for the first time great things spoken 


MADAME THERESE. 


145 


of ; they will know that all are equal in the 
sight of the Lord, that all have a right to justice, 
as the trees of the forest have to hght!’ ” 

‘•Is that written so, mole-catcher?” asked my 
uncle. 

“You can see for yourself,” answered the mole- 
catcher, handing him the book. 

Uncle Jacob looked at it with a troubled expres- 
sion. 

“ Yes, it is written,” said he, in a low voice ; 
“ it is written. Ah, may the Lord accomplish 
such gTeat things in our time! May He rejoice 
our hearts with such a spectacle!” 

Then stopping suddenly, as if astonished at his 
own enthusiasm — 

“Is it possible that at my age I allow myself 
to be so excited on this subject? I am a child, 
a real child!” 

He returned the book to the mole-catcher, who 
said, smiling, 

“I see very weU, doctor, that you understand 
this passage as I do ; — ^this noise of a great peo- 
ple rising, — it is France that proclaims the rights 
of man.” 

“How! you believe that relates to the French 
Revolution?” asked my uncle. 


146 


MADAME THmkSE. 


“To what, then? Tis as clear as the day.” 

Then he put on his glasses, which he had 
taken off, and read : 

“ ‘ There are seventy weeks in which to con- 
summate the sin, to expiate the iniquity, to bring 
about the justice of ages. After which men wiU 
throw their idols of silver to the moles and bats. 
And the peoples will say, ‘Let us beat our swords 
into ploughshares, and our spears into pruning 
hooks.’ ” 

At this point the mole-catcher leaned his el- 
bows on the book, and rubbing his beard, with 
nose upturned, seemed to reflect profoundly. I 
could not take my eyes from him. He seemed 
to me to see strange things — an unknown world 
in the darkness around us. The faint crackling 
of the fire and the sighs of Scipio sleeping near 
me, produced on me the effects of far-off human 
voices, and even the silence disquieted me. 

Uncle Jacob seemed to have recovered his calm- 
ness. He had just filled his large pipe, and 
lit it with a piece of paper, slowly drawing two 
or three puffs. He shut the hd and threw himself 
back in his chair, with a sigh. 

“ ‘ Men wiU cast down thoir silver idols,’ ” said 
the mole-catcher. “That is to say their crowns, 


MADAME THEKESE, 


117 


florins, and money of all kinds. ‘They will throw 
them to the moles.’ That is to the blind, for 
you know, doctor, that moles are bhnd. The un- 
fortunate blind creatures, like Father Harich, are 
truly moles. In broad daylight they walk in dark- 
ness, as if under ground. Li that time men will 
give their money to the blind and to the bats. 
By bats you must understand the old — old wo- 
men, who are no longer able to work, who are 
bald, and sit in their chimney-corners, like Chris- 
tine Besme, whom you know as well as I. Poor 
Christine is so thin, and has so little hair, that 
one naturally thinks when one sees her, ‘ she’s a 
bat.’ ” 

“Yes, yes,” said my uncle, in a peculiar tone, 
nodding his head slowly, “ it is clear, very clear. 
Now I understand your book ; it is something 
admirable.” 

“Men will give theii’ money to the blind, and 
the old women, in the spirit of charity,” contin- 
ued the mole-catcher, “and that will be the end 
of misery in this world ; there will be no more 
poor people, ‘in seventy weeks,’ which are not 
weeks of days, but weeks of months. ‘They will 
beat their swords into ploughshares, to cultivate 
the earth, and live in peace !’ ” 


143 


3IABAME THERESE. 


This explanation of the moles and bats had 
struck me so forcibly that I remained with eyes 
stretched wide open, imagining that I saw this 
wonderful transformation in the dark corner where 
my uncle sat. I had stopped hstening, and the 
mole-catcher was continuing his monotonous read- 
ing, when the door opened again. I felt my flesh 
creep. If old Harich the blind man, and old 
Christine, had come in arm in arm, in their new 
forms, I would not have been more frightened. 
I turned with my mouth open, — and breathed 
fr’eely ; it was our friend Koflel, who had come 
m. I had to look twice before I recognized him, my 
mind was so filled with thoughts of moles and bats. 

Koflel wore his old gray whiter jacket, a cloth 
cap di'awn over his ears, and great shoes run 
down at the heels, in which he had put old 
slippers to go out in. He stood with knees bent 
and hands in his pockets, as if he were chilly ; 
innumerable flakes of snow covered him. 

“ Good morning, doctor,” said he, shaking his 
cap in the entry, “ I am late ; so many people 
stopped me on the way to the ‘Ked Ox,’ and the 
‘ Little Gold Pitcher.’ ” 

“ Como in, Koflel. Did you close the allej 
gate ?” 



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MADAME THilRESE. 


149 


“Yes, Dr. Jacob, never fear.” 

He came in, and asked smilingly : 

“The Gazette didn’t come, this morninof?’* 

“No, but V7e haven’t needed it,” said my uncle 
in a tone of comical good humor. “We have 
the mole-catcher’s book, which relates the past 
the present, and the future.” 

“Does it also relate our victory?” asked Kof- 
fel, approaching the stove. My uncle and the 
mole-catcher looked at each other in astonishment. 

“AVhat victory?” asked the latter. 

“ Ah, that of the day before yesterday, at 
Kaiserslautern. They are talking of nothing else 
in the village. It was Kichter, M. Kichter, who 
came up at two o’clock to bring the news. 
They’ve already emptied fifty bottles at the 
‘Little Gold Pitcher * in honor of the Prussians; the 
R3publicans are entirely put to rout !” 

When he spoke of the Republicans we looked 
toward the alcove, fearing that the French wo^ 
man might hear us. It pained us, for we knew 
that she was a good woman, and we thought 
this news would cause her much suffering. 
Uncle Jacob raised his hand and shook his head 
sadly, then got up softly and half-opened the 
curtains to see if Madame Therese was asleep. 


150 


MADAME THERESE. 


“ It. is you, doctor/’ she said immediately ; “ 1 

have listened to the mole-catcher’s predictions for 
an hour ; I have heard all.” 

“Ah, Madame Therese,” said my uncle, “The 
news is false.” 

“I don’t think so, doctor. From the moment a 
battle was fought at Kaiserslautern, day before 
yesterday, we must have been defeated ; other- 
wise the French would have marched at once 
upon Landau to raise the siege, and cut off the 
retreat of the Austrians. Their right wing would 
have passed through the village.” Then raising 
her voice, “M. Koffel, will you tell me the details 
that you know.” 

This scene will always remain in my memory 
above all others, for we saw that night what a 
woman we had saved, and we learned, also, what 
that French race was which had risen en masse to 
convert the world. 

The mole-catcher had taken the candle from 
the table and we were aU in the alcove. I, at 
the foot of the bed, with Scipio beside me, 
looked on in silence, and saw for the first time 
that Madame Therese had become so thin that 
she looked like a man ; her long bony face with 
its straight nose, — the shape of her eyes, — the 


MADAME THERESE. 


151 


snarp chin leaning on her hand ; her lean brown 
arm was bared nearly to the elbow, escaping 
Irom the sleeves of Lisbeth’s coarse chemise ; a 
red silk handkerchief tied over her forehead 
hung down behind on her neck. We could not 
see her beautiful black hair, but only some httle 
locks over her ears, from which hung large 
gold rings. 'What particularly attracted my atten- 
tion was a medal of bronze which hung from 
her neck, representing a young girl in a cap 
shaped like a casque. I knew afterward that it 
was the image of the Republic, but I thought it 
then the Holy Virgin of the French. As the 
mole-catcher raised the candle, the alcove was 
lighted up, and Madame Therese seemed to me 
much taller. Her feet, under the covering, 
reached the foot of the bed. I had never be- 
fore noticed these things which impressed me then. 
She looked at Koffel, who looked anxiously at 
Uncle Jacob, as if to ask him what he must do. 

“ These are reports which are current in tha 
village,” said he with embarrassment ; “ That 

Richter is not to be rehed upon. 

“ It is all the same, M. Koffel, teU me the 
nows. The doctor allows it. Do you not, doc- 
tor?” 


152 


MADAME THERESE 


“Certainly,” said my uncle, reluctantly, “but we 
must not believe all we hear.” 

“ No — ^they exaggerate, I know very well ; but 
it is better to know the truth than to imagine 
a thousand things ; it is less tormenting.” 

Kofifel then told us that two days before, the 
French had attacked Kaiserslautern, and from seven 
in the morning until night, had fought ten-ibly, 
trying to enter the intrenchments ; the Prussians 
had destroyed them by thousands ; one saw 
only dead bodies in the ditches on the hill-sides, 
along the roads and in the Lauter. The French 
had abandoned everything ; their cannon, army- 
wagons, guns and pouches. They were massacred 
everywhere, and Brunswick’s cavalry, sent in pur- 
tuit, had taken a great number of prisoners. 

Madame Therese, her chin leaning on her hand, 
her eyes fixed on the opposite wall, and lips 
compressed, said nothing. She listened, and when 
Koffel wished to stop, for it gave him much 
pain to relate these things before the poor wo- 
man, — she looked at him very calmly, and he con- 
tinued, saying, 

“They say this, or that, but I don’t beheve 
it.” 

At last he finished, and Madame Therese re- 


MADAME THERi:SE, 


153 


mained silent, lost in thought, for a few minutes, 
Then my uncle said : 

“ All these are only rumors ; — we know noth- 
ing positively. You. would do wrong to grieve, 
Madame Therese.” 

She raised herself shghtly, leaning against the 
bedstead, and said very simply, 

“ Listen, it is clear that we have been repulsed. 
But do not think, doctor, that that discourages 
me. No ; this affair, which seems very consider- 
able to you, is but a httle thing to me. I saw 
this same Brunswick arrive in Champagne, at the 
head of a hundred thousand veterans, uttering 
proclamations in which there was no common 
sense, menacing all France, and then driven back 
by peasants in wooden shoes, at the point of the 
bayonet, as far as Prussia. My father, — a poor 
school-master, who had become major, — my 
brothers — poor laborers, who had become cap- 
tains through their courage, — and I beliind, with 
little Jean in my cart, escorted him, after the de- 
files of the Argonne and the battle of Yalmy. Do 
not think then that these things alarm me. AVe 
are not a hundred thousand men, nor two hun- 
dred thousand ; we are six miUion peasants, who 
mean to eat, ourselves, the bread that we have 


164 


MADAME THERESE. 


earned by our bard labor. It is just, and God 
is with us.” 

She said this with animation, extending hei 
long bony arm. The mole-catcher, my uncle and 
Koffel looked at each other in stupefied amaze- 
ment. 

“It is not one defeat, nor twenty, nor a hun- 
dred which can conquer us,” she continued. “When 
one of us falls, ten others rise. It is not for 
the King of Prussia, nor the Emperor of Ger- 
many, that we march ; it is for the abohtion of 
privileges of aU kinds, for liberty, for justice, for 
the rights of* man. In order to conquer us it 
would be necessary to exterminate every one of 
us,’’ added she with a strange smile, “ and that 
is not so easy as they may think. Only it is 
very unfortunate that so many thousands of good 
men, on your side, should suffer themselves to be 
massacred for kings and nobles, who are their 
gi*eatest enemies, when simple good sense ought 
to tell them to join us, to drive away aU these 
oppressors of the poor. Yes, this is very unfor- 
tunate, and gives me more pain than all the 
rest.” 

She lay down again, and Uncle Jacob remained 
silent for some moments, astonished at the justice 


MADAME THERESE. 155 

of her words. The mole-catcher and Koffel looked 
at each other in silence ; but it was easy to see 
that the Frenchwoman’s reflections had struck them, 
and that they were thinking : 

“ She is right !” 

At last my uncle said : 

“ Be calm, Madame Therese, be calm ! All will 
be well. We agree in many things ; if it depended 
upon me, we would soon be at peace.” 

“Yes, doctor, I know it, for you are a just 
man, and we only want justice.” 

“Try to forget all that,” said Uncle Jacob 
again. “Nothing is so necessary as quiet, if you 
wish to get well.” 

I will try, doctor.” 

Then we came out of the alcove, and my uncle 
looking at us dreamily, said : 

“ It is almost ten o’clock. We must go to bed 
— it is time.” 

He saw Koffel and the mole-catcher out, and 
j)ushed the bolt as usual. I had already gone up 
stairs. That night I heard him walking in his 
room a long time. He paced up and down with 
the slow measured step of a man who is reflect- 
ing. At last every sound ceased, and I went tc 
slee^j under God’s protection. 


X. 

The next morning, when I awoke, my little 
windows were covered with snow. It was stiU 
faUing so that I could not see the opposite 
house. Out-of-doors the bells of Uncle Jacob’s 
sleigh were tinkling, and his horse. Rappel, was 
neighing, but no other sound was heard ; the 
people in the village had ah been careful to close 
their doors. I thought it must be something ex- 
traordinary that could call my uncle out in such 
weather, and after dressing, hurried down stairs 
to find out what it could be. The door was open ; 
Uncle Jacob, up to his knees in snow, his large 
otter-skin cap drawn over his ears, and the collar 
of his overcoat turned up, was hastily arranging 
a bundle of straw in the sled. 

“Are you going away, uncle?” I said, going to 
the door. 


MADAME THERESE. 151 

“Yes, Fritzel, yes, I’m going away,” said he in 
a joyful tone. “Do you want to go with me?” 

I hked very much to go in the sleigh, but see- 
ing the great snow-flakes whirhng through the 
air, and thinking it would be cold, I answered : 

“Another day, uncle; I’d rather stay at home 
to-day.” 

Then he laughed, and came in again, pinching 
my ear, as he always did when in a good hu- 
mor. We went into the kitchen where the fire 
was dancing on the hearth, and giving out good 
heat. Lisbeth was washing dishes before the httle 
window with round panes, which opened on the 
yard. AU was quiet in the kitchen. The great 
soup tureens seemed to shine more than u-sual, 
and on their roimded sides danced fifty httle 
flames, like those on the hearth. 

“Now I’m ready,” said my uncle, opening the 
larder, and putting a crust of bread in his pocket. 

He put under his coat the flask of kirschen- 
wasser, which he always carried in travelling. Then, 
as he was about to enter the sitting-room, his 
hand on the latch, hn told the old servant not 
to forget his directions ; to keep up good fires 
everywhere ; to leave the door open that she 
might hear Madame Therese, and to give her aU 


158 


MADAME THERESE. 


Blie asked for, except anything to eat, — for she 
must have only broth morning and evening, with 
vegetables, — and not to contradict her in anything. 
Then he went in, and I followed, thinking what 
pleasure I should have when he was gone, running 
about the village with my friend Scipio, and proudly 
displaying his talents. 

“Well, Madame Therese,” said Uncle Jacob, 
gaily, “here I am, ready for departure. Wliat 
fine weather to go sleighing!” 

Madame Therese raised herself on her elbow in 
the alcove — the curtains were drawn aside — and 
looked toward the windows with a melancholy 
expression. 

“Are you going to see a patient, doctor?” said 
she. 

“Yes, a poor wood-cutter of Dannboch, three 
leagues from here, who was run over by his sled. 
It is a serious injury and will allow of no delay.” 

“What a hard business yours is!” said she, 
sympathizingly. “To go out in such weather as 
this to help an unfortunate man, who wiU, per- 
haps, never appreciate your services.” 

“Ah, no doubt,” said my uncle, fiUing his large 
porcelain pipe, “ that has often happened, but 
what would jou have? Because a man is poor 


MADAME THERESE, 


159 


is no reason why we should let him die ; we are 
all brothers, Madame Therese, and the poor have 
a right to hve as well as the rich.” 

“Yes, you are right, and yet how many in your 
place would remain quietly by their fireside, in- 
stead of risking their hves only for the pleasure 
of doing good.” And raising her eyes express- 
ively, she added : “Doctor, you are a Kepubli- 
can.” 

“I, Madame Therese! What do you mean?” 
cried he, laughing. 

“ Yes, a true Repubhcan — a man who stops at 
nothing, who disregards all suffering, all priva- 
tion, to do his duty.” 

“Well, if you understand it so, I am happy to 
deseiwe that name. But in aU parties and all 
countries in the world, there are such men.” 

“Then, M. Jacob, they are Republicans without 
knoTvung it.” 

My uncle could not help smihng. 

“You have a reply for everything,” said he, 
putting his package of tobacco into the large 
pocket of his overcoat ; “ one cannot argue with 
you.” 

A few minutes’ silence followed these words. 
My uncle struck a light. I had Scipio’s head in 


160 


MADAME THERESE. 


my arms, and was thinking: “I hold you. - You’ll 
follow me. We’ll come back to dinner, and then 
we’ll go out again.” The horse was neighing out- 
side ; Madame Therese was watching the great 
flakes which fell against the panes, when my 
uncle, who had hghted his pipe, said : 

“I shall be absent until evening. But Fritzel 
will keep you company. The time will not seem 
too long.” 

He passed his hand through my hair, and I 
became as red as a lobster, which made Madame 
Therese smile. 

“ Oh, no, doctor,” said she, kindly, “ it never 
wearies me to be alone ; w^e must let Fritzel run 
out with Scipio ; it wiU do them good. And they 
would rather breathe the fresh air than be shut 
up in the room — isn’t it so, Fritzel?” 

“ Oh yes, Madame Therese !” rephed I, giving 
a great sigh of relief. 

“ How ! aren’t you ashamed to speak in that 
manner?” cried my uncle. 

“ Why not, doctor ? Fritzel is like little Jean ; 
he says whatever he thinks, and he is right. Go, 
Fritzel, run, amuse yourself ; your uncle gives 
you leave.” 

How I loved her then, and how sweet her 


MADAME THERESE. 


lol 

smile appeared to me ! Uncle Jacob laugbedj 
took his whip from the corner behind the door, 
and said : 

“ Well, Madame Therese, au revoir and good 
courage !” 

“ Au revoir, doctor,” said she, with feehng, ex- 
tending her shm hand to him. “Go, and heaven 
guard you.” 

They remained thus for some moments, thought- 
ful, then my uncle said : 

“I shall be back this evening between six and 
seven, Madame Therese ; have faith, be tranquil, 
and all will go well.” 

Then we went out. He sprang into the sleigh, 
wrapped his overcoat around his knees, touched 
Rappel with his whip, saying to me, 

“Behave yourself, Fritzel !” 

The sleigh glided noiselessly away up the street. 
Some good people who were looking from llieir 
windows, said : 

“ Dr. Jacob is surely called somewhere to a 
person dangerously ill, otherwise he would not 
travel in such a snow.” 

M’^hen my uncle had disappeared round tho 
corner of the street, I closed the door, and went 
in to eat my soup by the fire. Scipio watched 


162 


MADAME THtRESE, 


me, his great moustaches upturned, hcking hia 
mouth and winking. I let him have my plate to 
clean, as usual, which he did gravely, not greedily, 
like the other dogs in the village. We had fin- 
ished, and were going out, when Lisbeth, who had 
just done her work, and was wiping her arms 
on the towel behind the door, said : 

“What, Fritzel, are you not going to stay at 
home ?” 

“No, I’m going to see httle Hans Aden.” 

“Well, listen. Since you’ve put on your boots, 
go to the mole-catcher’s to get some honey for 
the Frenchwoman. The doctor wants her to have 
a drink with honey in it. Take your cup and 
go down there. Tell the mole-catcher it’s for 
Uncle Jacob. Here’s the money.” 

Nothing pleased me more than to have errands 
to do, especially at the mole-catcher’s, who treated 
me as a reasonable man ehould. I took the cup, 
Fmd started vrith Scipio for his house in Orties 
Lane, behind the church. Some gossips were 
beginning to sweep their sidewalks. At the inn 
of the Little Golden Pitcher we could hear the 
glasses and bottles tinkling. They were singing 
and laughing and going up and down stairs ; which 
seemed to me extraordinary on Friday. I stopped 


MADAME THDRESE. 


163 


to see if it were a wedding or a christening, 
and as I stood on tiptoe, on the other side of 
the street, looking into the httle open entry, I 
saw, in the kitchen, the mole-catcher’s singular 
profile bending over the fire, his black stump of 
a pipe in the corner of his mouth, his brown 
hand placing a coal on the tobacco. Farther on 
to the right I saw, too, old Gredel in her cap 
with floating ribbons. She was arranging plates 
on a dresser, and her gray cat walked on the 
edge of it, setting up her back, and holding her 
tail in the air. 

In a moment the mole-catcher came slowly 
into the dark entry smoking his pipe. Then 
I cried : 

“ Mole-catcher ! mole-catcher !” 

He came to the edge of the steps, and said, 
laughing : 

“Is it you, Fritzel?” 

“Yes, I’m going to your house to get some 
honey.” 

“ WeU, come up, then, and take a drink. We’ll 
go together at once.” And turning toward the 
kitchen, “ Gredel,” cried he, “ bring a glass for 
Fritzel.” 

I ran up the steps, and we went in, with Scipio 


164 


MADAME THERESE. 


at our lieels. In the saloon we could see through 
the gray smoke, along the tables, men in blouses, 
in jackets, in waistcoats, their caps or felt hats 
drawn over their ears. Some seated in a row, 
others astride benches, raising their full glasses 
joyfully, and celebrating the great victory of 
Kaiserslautern. On all sides we heard them sing- 
ing the Fatherland.'' Some old women were 
drinking with their sons, and seemed as merry 
as the others. 

I followed the mole-catcher toward the win- 
dows that overlooked the street. There we found 
friend Koffel and old Adam Schmitt in the cor- 
ner, before a bottle of white wine. In the oppo- 
site corner were the innkeeper, Joseph Spick, 
his woolen cap drawn over his ears, like a buUy, 
and M. Eichter in hunting-jacket and great leather 
gaiters, drinking a hottle of green-sealed gleis- 
zdler. They were both purple, up to their ears- 
and were shouting : 

'‘To the health of Brunswick! To the health 
of our glorious army!” 

" Here !” said the mole-catcher, approaching our 
table, “make room for a man!” 

And Koffel, turning round, shook my hand 
while Father Schmitt said : 


MADAME THERESE. 


165 


“ Well and good, well and good, here’s a re- 
inforcement for us!” 

He seated me near him, against the wall, and 
Scipio came immediately to rub his hand with 
the end of his nose, with the air of an old 
acquaintance. 

“Ha! ha! ha!” said the old soldier: “it’s you, 
old fellow — ^you know me !” 

Gredel brought a glass, and the mole-catcher 
filled it. At that moment, M. Richter cried 
sneeringly, from the other end of the table : 

“Ha, Fritzel! how’s Dr. Jacob? He doesn’t 
come to celebrate the great battle ! It is aston- 
ishing, astonishing, such a good patriot !” 

And I, not knowing what to reply, said in a 
low tone to Koffel : 

“Uncle has gone in his sleigh to see a poor 
wood-cutter, who was run over by his sled.” 

Then Koffel, turning, cried in a clear voice — 

“While the grandson of Salm-Salm’s old ser- 
vant stretches out his legs under the table, near 
the stove, and drinks gleiszeller in honor of the 
Prussians who laugh at him. Dr. Jacob goes 
through the snow to see a poor wood-cutter on 
the mountain, who has been run over by his 
sled. That pays less than lending money on 


ir>6 MADAME THERESE. 

heavy interest, but it shows more heart, never- 
theless.” 

Koffel had drunk a little too much, and aU 
the men were listening and smihng. Eichter, 
.with a long face and compressed lips, did not 
answer at first, but after a moment he said — 

“What wouldn’t we do for the love of the 
Rights of Man, for the Goddess of Reason, and 
the Maximum, above all when a real citoyenne 
encouraged you !” 

“M. Richter, be silent!” cried the mole-catcher 
in a loud voice. “Dr. Jacob is as good a Ger- 
man as you, and that woman, of whom you 
speak without knowing her, is a good woman. 
Dr. Jacob has only done his duty in saving her 
life. You ought to be ashamed to excite the men 
of the village against a poor sick creature who 
can’t defend herself : it’s abominable 1” 

“I’U be silent when it suits me,” cried Rich- 
ter in his turn. “ You talk very loud — one 
would think that the French had gained the 
victory 1” 

Then the mole-catcher, his face as red as fire, 
struck his fist on the table, making the glasses fall 
over. He partly rose, but reseated himself, and said: 

“I have a right to rejoice in the victories of 



MR. KAKOLUS RICHTER AND JACOB SPICK 




I 





MADAME THERESE. 167 

eld Germany, at least quite as much as you, M. 
Richter, for I am an old German like my fath- 
er, and my grandfather, and all the mole-catch- 
ers known for two hundred years in the village 
of Anstatt for the raising of bees, and the 
catching of moks ; while the cooks of the Sahn- 
Salms wandered through France mth their mas- 
ters, to turn the spit, and hek the bottom of the 
pots.” 

Everybody in the room burst out laughing at 
this speech, and M. Richter, seeing that most of 
them were against him, judged it prudent to 
be moderate, and replied, therefore, in a calm 
tone : 

“I’ve never said anything against you nor Dr. 
Jacob; on the contrary, I know that the doctor’s 
an able man, and an honest man. But that doesn’t 
prevent every good German from rejoicing on such 
a day. For, listen, it’s not an ordinary victory, 
it’s the end of that famous Repubhc, ‘ one and in- 
divisible.’ ” 

“How! howl” cried old Schmitt, “the end of 
the Repubhc? That’s a piece of news!” 

“ Yes, it won’t last six months longer,” said 
Richter with assurance, “for, from Kaisers. \uteiu 
the French wiU be driven to Hornbach, from 


168 


MADAME THERESE. 

Hornbacli to Sarrebmck, to Metz, and thus to Paris 
Once in France we will find crowds of friends 
to help us; the nobihty, the clergy, and the re- 
spectable people are aU on our side. They only 
await the coming of our army to rise. And as to 
this troop of beggars, gathered from right and 
left, without officers and without discij^line, what 
can they do against old soldiers, firm as rocks, ad- 
vancing in order of battle, under the lead of the 
old warrior race? Crowds of bunglers without a 
single general, without even a real corporal schlague f 
Peasants, mendicants, true ‘sans calottes’ as they 
call themselves, — ask you what can they do 
against Brunswick, Wurmser, and hundreds of 
other old captains, tried by all the perils of the 
Seven Years’ War? They wiU be scattered and 
wiU perish by thousands like grasshoppers in au- 
tumn.” 

Everybody in the room seemed to be of Rich- 
ter’s opinion, and several said ; 

“Well and good, he speaks truly. We’ve 
thought the same for a long time.” 

The mole-catcher and Koffel were silent ; but 
old Adam Schmitt shook his head and smiled. 
After a moment’s silence he laid his pipe on the 
table, and said ; 


MADAME THERESE. 


169 


“ M. Eichter, you speak like an almanac ; you 
predict the future in an admirable manner ; but 
it’s not all so clear to others as to you. I am 
willing to believe that the old race is born to make 
generals, since nobles all come into the world cap- 
tains. But occasionally generals can also come 
from the race of peasants, and they do not make 
the worst ones, for they become generals through 
their own bravery. These Kepubhcans, who seem 
to you such fools, have sometimes good 'ideas, for 
all that ; for example, they have a rule that any 
one can become a field-marshal, if he have the 
courage and capacity ; on this account all the sol- 
diers fight furiously. They hold in their ranks as 
firmly as if they were nailed, and march forward 
like cannon balls, for they know that if they distin- 
guish themselves they have a chance of becom- 
ing captains, colonels, or generals. The Germans 
fight to give themselves masters ; the French 
fight to get rid of them. ; which makes a great 
difference. I watched tb.em from Father Diemer’s 
window, on the first floor, opposite the fountain, 
during the two charges of the Croats and lan- 
cers — magnificent charges ; — ^well, it astonished me 
very much, M. Richter, to see how those Ja- 
cobins bore themselves. And their colonel gave 
8 


170 


MADAME THtRESE. 


me real pleasure, with his gxeat Lorraine peas- 
ant’s face, and small wild-boar’s eyes. He wasn’t 
as well dressed as a Prussian major, but he sat 
his horse as tranquilly as if they were playing 
an air on the clarionet for him. They retreated 
at last, it is true, but they had a division at 
their backs, and left only the guns and pouches 
of the dead on the square. Such soldiers, be- 
lieve me, M. Richter, are men of expedients 
The old warrior races are good, but the young 
grow in their shade, as young oaks under large 
ones, and when the old decay the young take 
their place. I do not beheve, therefore, that the 
Republicans run away as you say. They are 
already famous soldiers, and if a general or two 
comes, take care! And this is not at all im- 
possible, for among twelve or fifteen hundred 
thousand peasants there’s more choice than be- 
tween ten or twelve thousand nobles. The 
race is not so fine, perhaps, but it’s stron- 
ger!” 

Old Schmitt stopped a moment to take breath, 
and then, as everybody was hstening, added — 

“ Here am 1, for example ; if I had had the 
happiness of being born in such a country, do 
you beheve that I would have contented myself 


171 


MADAME THERESE. 

with being Adam Schmitt, with a pension of a 
hundred florins, six wounds and fifteen cam- 
paigns? No, no, drive that idea out of your 
head. I should have been captain, colonel ot 
general Schmitt, with a good pension of two 
thousand dollars, or else my bones would have been 
resting somewhere, long ago. When courage is 
a highway to distinction, one has courage, 
and when it serves only to make one a sergeant 
and promote the nobles, each one takes care of 
his skin.” 

“And education,” cried Kichter, “ do you count 
education nothing? Is a man who don’t know 
how to read worth as much as a Duke of Bruns- 
wick who knows everything?” 

Then Koffel, turning, said calmly, 

“You are right, M. Kichter, education makes 
half, perhaps three-quarters of a man. This^is 
why these Eepublicans fight to the death ; they 
wish their sons to receive education as well y,s 
the nobles. It is the want of education which 
causes bad conduct and poverty; poverty causes 
wicked temptations, and wicked temptations lead 
to aU the vices. The greatest crime of those 
who govern in this world is refusing education 
to the poor, so that their noble race may always 


172 


MADAME THERESE. 


be above them. It is as if they put out peo^ 
pie’s eyes when they come into the world, to 
profit by their labor. God will avenge these sins, 
M. Kichter, for He is just. And if the Repub- 
licans shed their blood, as they say, to prevent 
such abuses, all religious men who beheve in 
immortality ought to approve of them.” So Kof- 
fel spoke, adding that if his parents had been 
able to educate him, he might perhaps have done 
honor to Anstatt, and have been of some use, in- 
stead of being a poor devil. 

Every one agreed with him, and several said 
among themselves : 

“ What would we have been if we had been ed- 
ucated? Are we more stupid than other people? 
No, heaven gives to all the bright sun and the 
heavy dew. We had good intentions : we ap- 
pealed for justice ; but they left us in the dark- 
ness, in a spirit of calculation, to keep us down. 
These men think to elevate themselves by pre- 
venting others from rising ; it is abominable 1” 

And I, remembering how much trouble Uncle 
Jacob had taken to teach me to read in Buffon, 
repented that I had not profited more by his 
lessons, and was much affected. M. Richter, see- 
ing everybody against him, and not knowiag how 


173 


MADAME THERESE. 

to reply to Kofiel’s judicious words, shrugged his 
shoulders as if to say, “These are fools mflated 
with pride, creatures who need to be brought to 
reason.” But silence was beginning to prevail, 
and the mole-catcher had just ordered a second 
bottle to be brought, when dull growls were 
heard under the table. We at once saw M. 
Kichter’s great red dog walking around Scipio. 
This dog was called Max ; his hair was short, 
his nose flat, and his ribs protruding ; he had 
yellow eyes, long ears, and tail raised like a 
sabre. He was large, lean and muscular. M. 
Richter was accustomed to hunt with him whole 
days without giving him anything to eat, under 
pretext that good hunting dogs ought to be hun- 
gry to scent the game and follow in its track. H e 
wanted to get behind Scipio, who kept turning 
round, his head raised, and his lips trembhng. 
Looking toward M. Richter, I saw that he was 
shly urging his dog on. Father Schmitt no- 
ticed it also, for he said : 

‘•'M. Richter, you are wrong to urge your dog. 
This spaniel you see is a soldier’s dog, fuU of 
cunning, and knows all the stratagems of war. 
Yours may be of an old race, but take care— 
this dog’s capable of stranghng him.” 


174 


MADAME THERESE. 

“ Strangle my dog !” cried Richter. “ He could 
swallow ten like this miserable cur. With a sin- 
gle bite he could break his back!” 

When I heard this, I wanted to run away with 
Scipio, for M. Richter was urging his great Max, 
and all the drinkers turned round, laughing, to 
see the battle. I was going to cry, but old 
Schmitt held me by the shoulder, saying in a 
low voice : 

“Be quiet, be quiet, — fear nothing, Fritzel. I 
tell you our dog understands pohtics — the other 
is only a gxeat beast that has seen nothing of 
the world.” And tuiming to Scipio, he said to 
him again and again, “Attention! attention!” 

Scipio did not stn\ He stood back in the 
corner of the wuidow, his head erect, his eyes 
shining under his thick curly hair, and in the 
corner of his trembhng moustache we could see 
one very sharp-pointed white tooth. The big red 
dog advanced, his head stretched forward, and 
his hair standing up on his lean back. They 
both growled ; then Max made a leap to seize 
Scipio by the throat. Three or four short, ter- 
rible cries were heard. Scipio had bent dowm 
while the other caught him by the hair, and 
with one bite he snapped at his paw. Then you 


MADAME TIIERESE. 


175 


slicuild have lieard Max’s distressing cries, and 
seen him steal off, lunping, under the tables ; he 
fled hke hghtning between the legs of the guests, 
repeating his sharp cries, which pierced one’s 
ears. M. Richter rose furiously to attack Scipio, 
but the mole-catcher took his stick from behind 
the door, and said : 

“ M. Richter, if your great beast is bitten, 
whose fault is it? You urged him on to do it. 
If he is maimed now, it will teach you better.” 

And old Schmitt, laughing and crying, called 
Scipio between his knees, and said, 

“ I knew very well that he understood the 
stratagems of war ! He ! he ! he ! we’ve brought off 
the flags and the cannon !” 

All his audience laughed with him, so that M. 
Richter angrily kicked his dog into the street 
so as not to he^r his cries. He would have been 
glad to do the same to Scipio, but everybody 
was astonished at the dog’s courage, and natural 
good sense. 

“ Come,” cried the mole-catcher, rising, “ come 
now”, Fritzel, it’s time I gave you what you 
wanted. I congratulate you, M. Richter ; yo’*' 
have a famous dog. Gredel, set down two bottles 
on the slate.” 


176 


MADAME THilRESE. 


Schmitt and Koffel also rose, and we all went 
out together, laughing heartily. Scipio kept near 
us, knowing that he had nothing good to hope 
for when we were gone. At the foot of the steps, 
Schmitt and Koffel turned to the right to gc 
down the main street, and the mole-catcher and 
I crossed the square, on the left, to Orties Lane. 
The mole-catcher walked in front, stooping, one 
shoulder higher than the other, as was his hab- 
it, drawing great puffs, one after another, from 
his pipe, and laughing to himself, doubtless at 
the remembrance of Kichter’s discomfiture. "VVe 
soon arrived at liis small door, which was in 
the basement. As we went down the steps, he 
said to me : 

“ Come, Fritzel, come ; leave the dog outside, 
for there’s none too much room in the hole.” 

He was right in calling his hut a “hole,” for 
it had only two little windows, even with the 
ground, opening on the street. Inside, all was 
dark ; the large bed and the wooden staircase, 
the old stools, the table covered with saws, brads 
and tweezers, the wardrobe adorned with two 
squashes, the ceiling crossed by poles where old 
Berbel, the mole-catcher’s mother, hung the hemp 
which she had spun ; ti aps of all sorts placed 


MADAME THERESE. 


177 


on the canopy of the bed, in an alcove gray with 
dust and cobwebs ; hundi'eds of martens’ and 
weasels’ skins hanging from the walls, some turned 
inside out, others still fresh and stuffed with 
straw to dry them ; — all these left you hardly 
room enough to turn round, and the thought of 
them recalls the happy time of my youth, for I 
have seen them a hundred times, summer and 
winter, rain or shine, whether the httle windows 
were open or shut. I always picture the mole- 
catcher to myself, in that room, seated at the 
table, shovTing his traps, his mouth twisted, hps 
compressed, and old Berbel, — yellow-skinned, her 
horse-hair cap on the back of her head, her ht- 
tle dry hands with long black nails, streaked 
with large blue veins, spinning from morning till 
night beside the stove. Once in a while she 
would raise her old wrinkled face, and look at 
her son with an air of satisfaction. But that day 
Berbel was not in a good humor, for we had 
hardly entered before she began to scold the 
mole-catcher in a sharp voice, declaiing that he 
was passing his life at the tavern, that he thought 
of nothing but drinking, and did not provide for 
the future — false charges, to which the mole- 
catcher did not reply, knowing that he must hear 


178 


MADAME THERESE. 


all his mother said without complaining. He 
quietly opened the closet while old Berbel scolded, 
and took from the highest shelf a large glazed 
earthen pot, in which honey as yellow as gold, 
in combs white as snow, lay in regular layers. 
He put it on the table, and taking out two fine 
combs, which he put on a very clean plate, said 
to me : 

“Here’s some beautiful honey for the French 
lady, Fritzel. Honey in the comb is the best 
thing in the world for sick people. It is nicer, 
and then it is so fresh and wholesome!” 

I had already placed the money on the edge 
of the table, and Berbel was stretching out her 
hand for it, very wilhngly, but the mole-catcher 
gave it back to me. 

“ No,” said he, “ no ; I won’t be paid for it ; 
put the money in your pocket, Fritzel, and take 
the plate. Leave your pot here. I’ll take it 
to you this evening, or to-morrow morning.” 
And as the old woman seemed angry, he added : 
“ Tell the French lady, Fritzel, that the mole- 
catcher makes her a present of this honey 
with pleasure — do you hear? — with all his heart 
— for she’s a respectable woman. Don’t forget to 
say ‘respectable,’ — do you mind?” 


MADAME THERESE. 


1Y‘J 


“Yes, mole-catcher, I’ll tell her. Good-day, Ber- 
bel,” said I, opening the door.” 

She answered by nodding her head abruptly. 
The avaricious old woman would not say anything 
on Uncle Jacob’s account, but it seemed very hard 
to her to see the , honey going without being paid 
for. The mole-catcher saw me out, and I turned 
homeward, weU satisfied with what had just 
happened 


XI. 

kj the corner of the church I met little Hans 
Aden, who was coming back from sliding on the 
pond. He turned round, his hands in his pock- 
ets up to his elbows, and called out : 

“ Fritzel ! Fritzel !” 

When I came up, he looked at the honey, and 
said : 

•‘Is that for you?” 

“No, it’s to make a drink for the Frencli 
lady.” 

“I’d like to be sick in her place,” said he, 
licking his thick lips, expressively. Then he added : 
“What are you going to do this afternoon?” 

“I don’t know— I shall go to walk with Scipio.” 

He looked at the dog, and stroking his back, 
said : 

“ Listen : if you’d like, we’ll go to lay traps 


181 


MADAME THERESE. 

behind the dunghills of the Postthal ; there are 
a good many greenfinches and sparrows along 
the hedges, under the sheds, and in the trees 
of the Postthal.” 

“Pd hke it v6ry much,” said I. 

“Yes, meet me here on the steps. We’ll go 
together.” 

Before we parted, Hans asked me to let him 
put his finger on the bottom of the plate. I 
assented, and he found the honey very good. 
After which, each of us took his own way, and 
I reached home about half-past eleven. 

“ Ah, here you are !” cried Lisbeth, as I entered 
the kitchen ; “ I thought you were never coming 
back. Heavens! must you take so much time to 
do an errand?” 

I told her about my meeting the mole-catcher on 
the steps of the Little Golden Pitcher, the dispute 
of Koffel, old Schmitt and the mole-catcher with M. 
Richter, the great battle between Max and Scipio, 
and finally the manner in which the mole-catcher 
had told me to say that he wanted no money 
for his honey, and that he offered it with all 
his heart to the French lady, who was a “respect- 
able ” person. As the door was open, Madame 
Therese heard me, and told me to come in. I 


182 


MADAME THERESE. 


saw that she was touched, and when I gave /ler 
the honey she accepted it. 

“Well, Fritzel, well,” said she with tears in 
her eyes, “I am pleased, much pleased with this 
present. The respect of honest men always gives 
us much pleasure. I will thank the mole-catcher 
myself, when he comes.” 

Then she leaned forward, and put her hand on 
the head of Scipio, who was standing beside the 
bed, looking up at her. She smiled, and said : 

“Scipio, you also sustain the good cause, then?’ 

The dog, seeing joy sparkle in her eyes, be- 
gan to bark loudly. He fell back on his hind 
legs, as if to go through the drill. 

“Yes, yes. I’m better now,” said she, “I feel 
much stronger. Ah! we have suffered so much!” 

Then, sighing, she leaned back on the pillow, 
and said : 

“Good news — only good news, and aU wiU be 
well !” 

Lisbeth had finished setting the table. She said 
nothing, and Madame Therese fell into a rev- 
ery. The clock struck twelve, and a few min- 
utes after the old servant brought in the little 
tureen of soup for herself and me. She made 
the sign of the cross, and we ate our dinner. 


MADAME THERESE. 


183 


Every moment I turned my head to see il 
Hans Aden was already on the church steps. 
Madame Therese had lain down again, turning 
her back to us, and drawing the blanket over 
her. Doubtless she had still much uneasiness. 
I thought only of the dunghills of the Postthal. 
Akeady I could see our brick traps, placed 
around in the snow, the lids raised, supported 
by two little wooden sticks, and grains of wheat 
scattered on the edge and in the bottom. I saw 
the greenfinches flying from tree to tree, and the 
sparrows in a row on the edges of the roofs, 
calling, watching, listening, while we, hidden in 
the shed behind heaps of hay, waited, our hearts 
throbbing with imjDatience. Then a span’ow 
would hght on the dunghill, his tail spread out 
like a fan — then another, then all the flock. 
There they are ! There they are ! near our 
traps ! They’re coming down — three of them 
are hopping about and pecking at the grains of 
wheat. Frouu! they all fly away at once. It’s 
some noise on the farm — it’s the boy Yeri with 
his great wooden shoes, who’s just shouted to 
one of the horses in the stable, “Come, tmm 
round, Foux!” What a misfortune! If the horses 
were only dead, and Yeri with them! Well, we 


184 


MADAME THERESE, 


must still wait — the sparrows have gone fai 
away. Suddenly one of them begins to cry again 
— they are coming back to the roof. Ah ! il 
Yeri will only not shout again — if he’ll only be 
quiet — if there were only no people on the farm 
nor in the road! What anxiety! At last one 
comes down again — Hans pulls my jacket — we 
hold our breath — we are dumb with hope and 
fear! All this I saw beforehand and I could not 
keep quiet. 

“ In heaven’s name, what’s the matter with 
you?” said Lisbeth, “You’re fidgeting hke a soul 
in torment — do keep still.” 

I did not hear her, with my nose flattened 
against the window-pane : I was thinking — 

“Will he come or won’t he come? Perhaps 
he’s already down there — he may have taken some- 
body else with him!” 

This idea seemed terrible to me. 

I was going to run out, when at last I saw 
Hans Aden crossing the Square. He was look- 
ing toward our house, watching for me. I was 
already in the alley, and opened the gate with- 
out calling Scipio this time. Then I ran close 
to the wall, for fear of some errand or otliei 
hindrance ; — so many misfortunes do happen to 


MADAME TIIERESE. 


185 


one in this world ! It was not tni we were 
fai* from the house, in Orties Lane, that Hans 
and I stopped to take breath. 

“Have you some wheat, Hans?” 

“Yes.” 

“And your knife?” 

“ Be easy — ^here it is. But, Fritzel, I can’t 
carry everything — ^you must take the bricks, and 
I’ll take the tiles.” 

“Yes ; come on.” 

And we crossed the fields back of the village, 
through snow up to our waists. If the mole- 
catcher, Koffel, or my uncle, himself, had called 
us then, we would have run on hke thieves, with- 
out turning our heads. 

We soon came to the old abandoned kiln, for they 
rarely bake bricks in the vsinter, and took our 
load of bricks. Then, re-crossing the meadow, we 
climbed over the hedges of the Postthal, all cov- 
ered with frost, just opposite the large square 
duughiUs back of the stables and out-house. We 
could see the sparrows far above us, sitting in a 
row on the edges of the roofs. 

“I told you so,” cried Hans; “Listen — listen!” 

Then we placed our traps, clearing away the 
snow from the ground. Hans cut little sticks^ 


18G MADAME THERESE. 

placed the tiles very carefully, and then scattered 
wheat all around. The sparrows watched us from 
the roofs, hghtly turning their heads, without mov- 
ing a wing. Hans rose, wiping his nose on 
the back his sleeve, and looking up, winking, so 
as to see the sparrows. 

“Come,” said he in a low voice, “they’re go- 
ing to come down.” 

We went into the shed, full of high hopes, — and 
at that moment all the flock disappeared. We 
thought they would come back ; but until near- 
ly four o’clock we remained squatted down be- 
hind the heaps of hay, without hearing the cry 
of a single sparrow. They understood what we 
were doing, and had flown far away to the 
other end of the village. 

Imagine our despair ! Hans, notwithstanding 
his good disposition, was terribly angry, and I 
indulged in the saddest reflections, thinking there 
was nothing more foohsh than wanting to catch 
sparrows in the winter, when they were nothing 
but skin and bones, — and it would take four of 
them to make a mouthful. 

At last, tired of waiting, and seeing that it 
was getting dark, we returned to the village 
through the main street, shivering, with our 


MADAME THERESE. 


187 


hands in our pockets, moist noses, and caps draw 
over our ears, in a dismal manner. 

It was night when I got home. Lisbeth w^as 
preparing supper ; but as I felt rather ashamed 
to teU her how the sparrows had fooled us, 
I opened the door of the sitting-room softly, and 
sat down quietly behind the stove, instead of 
running into the kitchen as usual. 

Nothing stirred. Scipio was sleeping under the 
arm-chair curled up in a heap, and I had 
been warming myself for quarter of an hour, 
listening to the murmur of the fire. AVhen Ma- 
dame Therese, whom I thought had been asleep, 
said in a gentle voice : 

“Is that you, Fritzel?” 

“Yes, Madame Therese,” answered 1. 

“Are you warming yourself?” 

“ Yes ; Madame Therese.” 

“You were very cold, then?” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“What have you been doing this afternoon?” 

“Hans Aden and I’ve been setting traps foi 
the sparrows.” 

“Did you take many?” 

“No, Madame Therese, not many.” 

“How many?” 


188 


MADAME THJ^RESE. 


It made made my heart bleed to tell this kind 
woman that we had not taken any. 

“ Two or three, didn’t you, Fritzel ?” asked 
she. 

“No, Madame Therese.” 

“Didn’t you take any, then?” 

“No.” 

She was silent, and I thought she must feel 
very sorry. 

“They are very smart birds,” she said in a mo- 
ment. 

“Oh, yes.” 

“ Are your feet wet, Fritzel ?” 

“No, I had on my wooden shoes.” 

“Well, weU, so much the better. Be com- 
forted ; another time you’ll be more fortunate.” 

“ While we were talking Lisbeth came in, leav- 
ing the kitchen door open. 

“Ah, here you are,” said she; “I’d like to 
know where you spend your days? Always out, 
always with your Hans Aden or your Frantz 
Sepel.” 

“He’s been catching sparrows,” ^aid Madame 
Therese. 

“Sparrows! if I could only see them once,” 
cried the old servant “ Every winter for three 


MADAME THERESE. 


189 


years, he has run after sparrows. Once he 

caught by chance in the autumn an old feath- 

erless jay, who had no strength left to fly, and 
since then he thinks aU the birds of heaven are 
his.” 

Lisbeth laughed. She sat down to the spin- 
ning-wheel, and said, as she dipped her finger into 
the mouilloir.'^ 

“.Now everything’s ready, and when the doc- 
tor comes I’ll only have to lay the cloth' : — 

What was I teUing you about a httle while 

ago ?” 

“ You were speaking of your conscripts, M’Ue Lis- 
beth.” 

“Ah, yes — when this wicked war began all the 
young men of the village went away — big Lud- 
wig, the blacksmith’s son, httle Christel, Hans 
Goemer, and many others — they went, some on 
foot, some on horseback, singing, “ Fatherland I 
Fatherland r -with their comrades who took them 
to Kirschtal, to Father Fritz’s inn, on the road 
to Kaiserslautern. They sang, indeed, but that 
did not prevent them from crying bitterly when 
they saw the steeple of Anstatt for the last time. 

* Vessel of water, in which women wet their fingers when spin- 
ning flax. 


laa . MADAME THEEESE. 

Little Cliristel embraced Ludwig at every step, 
saying, ‘When shall we see Anstatt again?’ 
Ludwig answered : ‘ Ah, alas ! we mustn’t think 
of that ; the good God will protect us from 
these Kepublicans, heaven confound them!’ They 
wept together, and the old sergeant, who had 
come expressly for them, kept saying, ‘ Forward ! 
Courage! We are men!’ His nose was red from 
drinking with our conscripts. Tall Hans Goerner, 
who was going to marry Rosa Mutz — the garde 
chamjyetre’s daughter — cried, ‘ One drink more ! 
one drink more! This is perhaps the last plate 
of sour-krout that we shall ever see !’ ” 

“Poor boy!” said Madame Therese. 

“Yes,” answered Lisbeth, “and yet that would 
be nothing if the girls could be married. But 
when the boys go away, the girls are left here, 
to dream from morning till night, to wear them- 
selves out and die off. They can’t marry the old 
men, — sixty years old, — widowers, or else hump- 
backed, lame or one-eyed. Ah ! Madame Therese, 
I don’t reproach you ; but without your Revo- 
lution we would have been very happy, we Avould 
only think of praising God for his goodness. 
Such a Republic, which throws everything into dis- 
order, is terrible!” 


MADAME THERESE. 


191 


As I listened to this speech I noticed that a 
pleasant odor of stuffed veal was filling the room, 
and Scipio and I at last got up to take a look 
in the kitchen. AVe found a good onion soup, a 
breast of veal, stuffed, and fried potatoes. Run- 
ning about had made me so hungry that it 
seemed as if I could swallow the whole at a 
mouthful. 

Scipio was no less favorably inclined ; mth 
his foot on the edge of the hearth he snuffed 
among the pots, for a dog’s nose, as M. de 
Buffon says, is a very dehcate second sight. Af- 
ter taking a good look, I prayed for my uncle’s 
return. 

“Ah, Lisbeth,” cried I, re-entering the sitting- 
room, “ if you knew how hungry I am !” 

“ So much the better,” replied the old woman, 
who was stni talking, “an appetite’s a good thing.” 

Then she continued her village tattle, to which 
Madame Therese seemed to listen with pleasui’e. 
I went backwards and forwards, from the sit- 
ting-room to the kitchen, and Scipio followed me; 
doubtless he felt the same as I did. Outside, 
the night was growing dark. Occasionally Ma- 
d ime Therese would interrupt the old servant, 
raising her finger, and saying : 


192 


MADAME THERESE. 


“Listen r 

Then we would all be quiet a moment. 

“ It’s nothing,” said Lisbeth ; “ Hans Bockel’s 
cart is passing,” or else, “it’s mother Dreyfus, 
who is going to watch at the Bremers’.” 

She knew the habits of everybody in An- 
statt, and it gave her real happiness to talk to 
the French lady about them, now that she had 
seen the image of the Holy Virgin hanging from 
her neck ; — ^for the sudden friendship sprang 
from that, as I learned afterwards. 

Seven o’clock struck, — then the half hour. At 
last, not knowing how to pass the time, while 
waiting, I climbed on a chair, and took from a 
shelf Buffon’s Natural History, — a thing which I 
had never done before. Then, with my elbows 
on the table, in a kind of despair, I began to 
read French alone. Only a ravenous appetite 
could have given me such an idea; but every moment 
I raised my head and hstened, looking towards 
the window with eyes wide open. I had just 
finishei the account of the sparrow, which pos- 
sesses twice as much brain as man in propor- 
tion to its size, when a sound was heard afar 
otf,- the sound of little bells. It was still a hard 
ly perceptible tinkling, lost in the distance, but 


MADAME THERESE. 


193 


it approached rapidly, and soon Madame Therese 
said : 

“It is the doctor.” 

“ Yes,” said Lisbeth, rising and putting her 
wheel in the corner by the clock; “this time 
it’s he.” 

She ran into the kitchen. I was ah-eady in the 
passage, leaving Buffon on the table, and I 
opened the outer door, crying, 

“Is it you, uncle?” 

“ Yes, Fritzel,” replied my uncle’s cheerful 
voice. “I have come. Is all weU at home?” 

“Very weU, uncle, everybody’s well” 

“ Good, good !” 

Then Lisbeth went out with the lantern, and 
I saw Uncle Jacob in the shed unharnessing the 
horse. He was white, in the midst of the dark- 
ness, and every hair of his coat and fur cap 
shone Like a star in the light of the lantern. 
He was in a hurry ; Kappel, turning his head 
toward the stable, seemed as if he could not 
wait. 

“ Good Lord, how cold it is out here !” said 
the old servant, running to help him. “You’ll be 
frozen, doctor. Go in, quick, and warm yourself 
1*11 finish this by myself.” 


194 


MADAME THERESE. 


But Uncle Jacob was not accustomed to leave 
the care of bis horse to others ; and it was not 
till he saw Kappel before the rack filled with 
hay, with his feet in the good straw, that he 
said : 

“Now we’ll go in.” 

And we went in together. 

“ Good news, Madame Thereso ! cried he in 
the doorway, “ Good news ! Tve come from 
Kaiserslautern ; it is all right down there.” 

Madame Therese, seated on her bed, looked at 
him ver}^ pale. And as he shook his cap, and 
took off his overcoat, she said : 

“ How, doctor, do you come from Kaiserslau- 
tern ?” 

“Yes, I went as far as that — I wanted to 
know all the particulars. I’ve seen everything — 
I’ve informed myself of everything,” said he, 
smihng, “but I won’t conceal from you, Ma- 
dame Therese, that I’m dying of hunger and fa- 
tigue.” 

He was seated in the arm-chair, drawing off 
his heavy boots, and watching Lisbeth lay the 
cloth with eyes as sharp as Scipio’s and mine. 

“All I can tell you,” said he, rising, “is that 
the battle of Kaiserslautern is not so decisive 


MADAME THERESE. 


195 


as they thought, and your regiment was not 
engaged. Little Jean has run no new dangers.” 

“That is enough,” said Madame Therese, lying 
back with an air of happiness > and unspeakable 
emotion, “that is enough. You need teU me no 
more, lest I should be too happy. Warm your- 
self, doctor ; eat — don’t hurry. I can wait now.’* 

Lisbeth brought in soup, and my uncle, sit- 
ting down, said again : 

“Yes, that is positive. You can be easy on 
these two points. I’ll tell you the rest pres- 
ently.” 

Then we began to eat, and my uncle, looking 
at me now and then, smiled, as if to say : 

“ I beheve you want to keep up with me. 
What in the devil has given you such an appe- 
tite ?” 

Our great hunger was soon appeased. We re- 
m 3 mb are d poor Scipio, who was watching us 
stoically, and now it was his turn to eat. My 
uncle took another good drink, then lighted his 
pipe, and approaching the alcove took Madame 
Therese’s hand, as if to feel her pulse, and 
said : 

“ Here I am !” 

She smiled, and said nothing. 


196 


MA BAME THERESE. 


Then he drew up the arm-chau% opened tho 
curtains, placed the candle on the night-table, 
and began the history of the battle. I listened, 
leaning on the back of his chair. Lisbeth re- 
mained standing in the sitting room, in the 
dark. 

“The Kepnblicans arrived before Kaiserriautern 
on the evening of the 27th,” said he ; “ the Prus- 
sians had been there for three days. They had 
fortified the position, by placing cannon on the 
heights that command the plateau. General Hoche 
followed them from the line of the Erbach ; he 
had even wished to surround them at Bisingen, 
and he immediately resolved to attack them the 
next day. The Prussians had forty thousand men 
and the French thirty thousand. The next day 
the attack began on the left ; the Kepublicans, 
under General Ambert, began to scale the heights, 
at a charge, crying, ‘ Landau or death ! ’ At 
this moment, Hoche ought to have attacked the 
centre. But it was covered by woods and heights. 
It was impossible for him to arrive in time. 
General Ambert was obliged to retreat before the 
Prussian fire ; he had all Brunswick’s army against 
him. The day following, November 29th, Hoche 
attacked the centre ; General Ambert was to 


MADAME THilRESE. 


197 


turn the right wing, but he lost his way in the 
mountains, so that Hoche was overpowered in his 
turn. In spite of this the attack was to recom- 
mence the next day, November 30th. That day 
Brunswick made a movement in advance, and the 
Repubhcans, fearing their communications would 
be cut off, retreated. This is what I know posi- 
tively, and from the mouth of a Repubhcan colo- 
nel, wounded in the hip, the second day of the 
battle. Doctor Feuerbach, one of my old univer- 
sity friends, took me to this man. Otherwise, I 
should have learned nothing rehable, for one can 
get nothing but boasts out of the Prussians. 
Everybody in the city is talking of these events, 
but each in his own manner. Great excitement 
prevails down there. Convoys of the wounded 
are constantly leaving for Mayence ; the City 
Hospital is filled with patients, and the citizens 
are forced to receive the wounded into their houses 
until they can be removed.” 

The attention with which Madame Therese Hs- 
tened to this recital may be imagined. 

“I see — see,” said she, sadly, her head lean- 
ing on her hand. “ Our troops were not con- 
centrated enough.” 

“ Truly they were not ; that is what everybody 


198 


MADAME THi:RE8E. 


at Kaiserslautern says ; but that doesn’t prevent 
one from recognizing the courage and even the 
extraordinary boldness of your Republicans. When 
they cried, ‘Landau or death!’ in the midst of 
the firing of guns, and the roaring of cannon, 
all the city heard them ; it was enough to make 
one shudder. Now they are in retreat, but Bruns- 
wick has not dared to pursue them.” 

There was a moment’s silence, then Madame 
Therese asked : 

“And how do you know that our regiment 
was not engaged, doctor?” 

“ From the Repubhcan colonel ; he told me 
that the first battalion of the second brigade had 
met with great losses in a village in the moun- 
tain, some days before, while reconnoitring near 
Landau, and that for that reason they were held 
in reserve. Then I saw that he understood affaiis 
exactly.” 

“What is this colonel’s name?” 

“ Pierre Ronsart ; he’s a tall dark man, with 
black hair.” 

“I know him well — I know him well — ^he was 
captain in our battalion last year ; what ! is that 
poor Ronsart a prisoner? Is his wound dangerous ?” 

“ No ; Feuerbach told me he would recover^ 


MADAME THERESE. 


19G 


out it will take some time,” answered my uncle. 
Then smiling archly, his eyes half closed— “ Yes, 
y6s — that’s what the colonel told me. But he 
toll! me many other things — interesting things — • 
extraordinary things, and which I should never 
have suspected.” 

“ What were they, doctor ?” 

“ Something that astonished me very much,” 
said Uncle Jacob, pressing the tobacco into his 
pipe with the end of his finger, and drawing a 
great puff, looking up at the ceding — “ very much 
astonished me, and yet not so much — no, not so 
much either, for such ideas had sometimes come 
into my head.” 

“ But what is it. Monsieur Jacob ?” said Ma- 
dame Therese, in surprise. 

“ He spoke of a certain Citoyenne Therese, a 
sort of Corneha, known in all the army of the 
Moselle, and whom the soldiers call ‘ The Citoyenne !' 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! It seems that the citoyenne doesn’t 
lack a certain courage !” And turning to Lisbeth 
and me, “Imagine that one day when the leader 
of their battahon had just been killed in trying 
to urge on his men, and when a bridge must bo 
crossed which was defended by a battery and 
two Prussian regiments, and all the oldest Be- 


200 


MABAME TIIJ^RESE. 


publicans, the most terrible among those cour- 
ageous men, recoiled — imagine this Giloyenne Therese 
taking the flag, and marching all alone across the 
bridge, telhng her httle brother J ean to beat the 
charge before her, as before an army ; which 
produced such an effect upon the Repubhcans, 
that they all rushed forward at once, and took 
the cannons. Do you understand, all of you ? 
It was Colonel Ronsart who told me this.” 

And as we looked at Madame Therese quite 
stupefied, — ^I, especially, my eyes wide open, — we 
saw that she was turning very red. 

“ Ah,” said my uncle, “ we learn something new 
every day; that was grand! — that was fine! Yes, 
yes, although I am a lover of peace, that moved 
me very much.” 

“ But, doctor,” replied Madame Therese, at last, 
“how could you beheve” 

“ Oh,” interrupted Uncle Jacob, extending his 
hand, “it wasn’t the colonel alone who told me 
that ; two other wounded captains who were there, 
hearing that Giloyenne Therese was still lining, 
were greatly rejoiced. The story about her and the 
flag is known to the lowest soldier. Say — or 
no — did she do that?” said my uncle, frowning, 
and looking in Madame Therese’s face. 


MADAME THERESE, 


201 


Then she, drooping her head, began to weep, 
and said : 

“The commander who had just been killed, was 
our father — we wanted to die, httle Jean and I — ^r^^e 
were desperate.” 

As she thought of that, she sobbed. My uncle 
became very grave, and said ; 

“Listen, Madame Therese : I am proud of 
having saved the hfe of such a woman as you. 
Whether it was because your father had died, or 
for some other reason, that you acted thus, it 
was truly grand, noble and courageous. It was 
even exti-aordinary, for thousands of other women 
would only have groaned. They would have be- 
come powerless, and done nothing but utter 
reproaches. But you are a courageous woman, 
and long after you have performed great actions, 
you weep when others are beginning to forget. 
You are not only the woman who lifted up the 
banner from among the dead, but you are also 
the woman who weeps, and this is why I esteem 
you. And I say that the roof of this house in 
which my father and grandfather once hved, is 
honored by your presence, yes, honored!” 

My uncle spoke gravely, dwelling on the words 
and placing his pipe on the table, for he wa? 


202 


MADAME THERESE. 


greatly mo’ved. And Madame Therese answered . 
“Doctor, don’t speak so, or I shall be obliged 
to go away. I entreat you not to speak of that 
again.” 

“I have told you what I think,” rephed Uncle 
Jacob, rising, “and now I will say no more 
about it, since that is your vdsh, but that doesn’t 
prevent me from honoring, in you, a gentle and 
noble creature, and being proud of having taken 
care of you. And the colonel told me also who 
your father and brothers were ; simple, artless 
men, who went together to defend what they 
believed to be justice. When so many thousands 
of proud men think only of their own interests, 
and, I say it with regret, when they consider 
themselves nobles, while thinking only of material 
things, one likes to see that true nobihty, that which 
comes from disinterestedness and heroism, is found 
among the people. Let them be Repubhcans or 
not, what matters it? I think m my soul and 
conscience, that the true nobles, in the sight of 
the Lord, are those who do their duty.” 

My uncle in his excitement was walking up 
and down the room, talking to himself. Madame 
Therese, having dried her tears, looked at him 
smilingly, and said ; 


MADAME THERESE. 


201 ) 


“ Doctor, you have brought us good news, — 
tJjaiiks — thanks! Now I’m going to get better.” 

“Yes,” replied Uncle Jacob, stopping, “you are 
going to get better and better. But it is time to 
rest. We have had much fatigue, and I think wee'll 
all sleep weU to-night. Come Fritzel, come Lis- 
beth, let us go 1 Good night, Madame The- 
rese.” 

“ Good-night, doctor.” 

He took the candle, anu, with head bent down 
thoughtfully, followed us up-staiis. 


Ito next (lav was a day of happiness for 
Uncle Jacob’s house. It was very late when I 
awoke from my deep sleep ; I had slept twelve hours 
as if it were but a second, and the first things I saw 
were my httle round window-panes, covered with 
those silver flowers, those transparent nets, and 
thousand ornaments of frost-work, such as no 
designer’s hand could trace. It is nevertheless 
but a simple thought of God’s, which reminds us of 
spring in the midst of winter ; but it is also 
the sign of gTeat cold, — of the dry, sharp cold 
which succeeds snow. Then all the rivers, and 
even the springs are frozen. The roads are 
hard, and the pools covered with that white and 
brittle ice which cracks under the feet like egg- 
shells. Seeing this with my nose hardly out of 


MADAME THERESE. 


205 


the coverlet, and my cotton cap di-awn far down 
over my ears, I recalled all the past winters, 
and said to myself : 

“Fritzel, you won’t dare to get up ; not 
even to go to breakfast ; you won’t dare !” 

But a good odor of cream porridge came 
up from the kitchen, and inspired me with 
a terrible courage. I had been lying there, 
thinking, for haK an hour, and had just resolved 
beforehand that I would spring out of bed, take 
my clothes under my arm, and run down to the 
kitchen, to dress near the fire, when I heard 
Uncle Jacob getting up, in his room, next to 
mine, which led me to think that the great fa- 
tigue of the night before had made him as late a 
sleeper as 1. A few minutes afterward he came 
into my room, laughing and shivering, in his 
shirt-sleeves. 

“Come, come, Fritzel,” cried he, “get up, 
get up ! courage ! Don’t you smell the por- 
ridge?” 

He always did so in the winter when it was 
very cold, and amused himself with seeing me 
in a state of great uncertaint}’. 

“If they could bring the soup here,” said 
“I’d smell it much better.” 


29G 


MABAME THERESE. 


“Oh, the coward, the coward! He would 
the heart to eat in bed 1 What laziness 1” 

Then, to set me a good example, he poured 
the cold water from my pitcher into the large 
basin, and washed his face with both hands, saying : 

“ This does one good, Fritzel ; it freshens you 
up, and gives you ideas. Come, get up 1 — 
Come 1” ^ 

But I, seeing that he wanted to wash me, 
sprang from the bed, and with a single bound 
seized my clothes, and rushed down stairs four 
steps at a time. My uncle’s shouts of laughter 
tilled the house. 

“Ah! you’d make a famous Kepublican, you!” 
cried he. “Little Jean would have to beat the 
charge briskly to give you courage !” 

But once in the kitchen, I could laugh at his 
raillery. I was dressing near a good fire, and was 
bathing with tepid water which Lisbeth poured 
out for me. That seemed to me much better than 
having great courage, and I was beginning to 
contemplate the soup-tureen with an affectionate 
eye, when Uncle Jacob came down. He pinched 
my ear, and said to Lisbeth : 

“Well, well! how’s Madame Therese this morn- 
ing? she has had a good night, I hope?” 


MADAME THERESE. 


207 


Go in, doctor,” replied the old servant, in a 
good-natured tone ; “ go in, sir, somebody wants to 
speak to you.” 

My uncle entered, and I followed, and we were 
at first very much surprised to see no one in 
the sitting-room, and the curtains of the alcove 
drawn. But our astonishment was very much 
greater, when, turning round, we saw Madame 
Therese in her cantiniere’s dress — the httle jack- 
et with brass buttons closed to the throat, and 
the large red scarf around her neck, — seated be- 
hind the stove. She looked as we had first 
seen her, only a httle paler. Her hat was on 
the table, and her beautiful black hair, parted 
in the middle, feU over her shoulders, making 
her look like a young man. She was smihng 
at our astonishment, and kept her hand on the 
head of Scipio, who was sitting near her. 

“Good Lord!” cried my uncle. “How, is it 
you, Madame Therese! You’ve got up!” 

Then he added, anxiously, 

“ What imprudence !” 

But she, continuing to smile, held her hand out 
to him gratefully, and looking at him express- 
ively with her large black eyes, answered — 

“ Fear nothing, doctor ; I’m well, very well 


208 


MADAME THERESE. 


Your good news of yesterday restored me to health 
See, for yourself!” 

He took her hand in silence, and felt hei 
pulse thoughtfully. Then his brow cleared, and 
he cried, in a joyous tone: 

“No more fever! Ah now — now, all goes well! 
But still you must be prudent — ^be prudent 
still.” 

And drawing back he laughed like a child, 
looking at his patient, who smiled, also. 

“I see you again as I saw you first, Madame 
Therese,” he said slowly. “ Ah ! 'we’ve been very 
fortunate, very fortunate!” 

“You’ve saved my life. Monsieur Jacob,” said 
she, her eyes filled with tears. 

But he shook his head and raised his hand — 

“ No, no, it is He who preserves ever^dhing 
and who animates everything — ^it is He alone who 
has saved you ; for He does not want all the 
noble and beautiful natures to perish ; he wants 
some to remain as an example for others. Let us 
thank Him!” 

Then, with voice and countenance changing, he 
added : 

“ Let us rejoice ! Let us rejoice ! This is what 
I call a happy day!” 






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MADAME THERtlSE HAD BECOME VERY THOUGHTFUL, 




MADAME THERESE. 


209 


He ran into the kitchen, and as he did not 
return immediately, Madame Therese beckoned me 
to her. She took my head between her hands 
and kissed me, putting aside my hair. 

“You’re a good child, Fritzel,” said she. 
“ You’re like httle Jean !” 

I was very proud to resemble httle Jean. 

Then my uncle returned, his eyes twinkhng, 
with an expression of inward satisfaction. 

“ To-day,” said he, “ I shan’t stir from the 
house. It is necessary that a man should rest, 
occasionaUy. I’m only going to make a httle 
tour of the viUage, that I may have a clear 
conscience, and then I shah return and pass the 
whole day with my family, as I used to do in 
the good time when grandmother Lehnel was 
hving. It has weU been said that it is women 
who make the home.” 

He put on his large cap, and threw his coat 
over his shoulder, and went out, smihng. 

Madame Therese had become very thoughtful. 
She rose, drew her chair to a windo^w, and 
looked out upon the square with the fountain, 
gravely. I went into the kitchen to breakfast 
with Scipio. In about half an hour I heard mj 
uncle come in, saymg, 


210 


MADAME THilRESE. 


“Well! here I am, free until evening, Ma« 
dame Tlierese. I’ve made my tour : everything’s 
in order, and I’m not obliged to go out again.” 

Scipio was scratching at the door ; I opened 
it, and we went into the sitting-room together. 
My uncle had just hung his coat on the wall, 
and was looking at Madame Therese, who was 
stiU in the same place, seeming very melancholy. 

“What are you thinking of, Madame Therese?” 
asked he ; “you appear to be sadder than you 
were a little while ago.” 

“I’m thinking, doctor, that in spite of the 
greatest sufferings, it is pleasant to remain some 
time longer in this world,” said she, in an agi- 
tated voice. 

“Some time?” cried Uncle Jacob. “Say, rather, 
for many years ; for, thanks to God, you have a 
good constitution, and in a few days you will be 
as strong as ever.” 

“Yes, Monsieur Jacob, yes; I beheve it. But 
when a good man, a kind-hearted man, has raised 
you from among the dead, at the last moment, 
it is a very great happiness to feel oneself re- 
covered ; to say to oneself, ‘ But for him, I should 
not now be living.’” 

My uncle then understood that she was com 


MADAME THtlRESE. 


2U 


fcemplating the scene of the terrible battle between 
her battahon, and the Austrian division ; that the 
old fountain, the tottering walls, the gables, 
the attic windows — in short, all the small dark 
square — recalled the incidents of the struggle, and 
that she knew the fate whigh awaited her, if he 
had not fortunately arrived when Joseph Spick 
was going to throw her into the cart. For a 
moment he was overwhelmed by this discovery. 
Then he asked : 

“Who told you these things, Madame Therese?” 

“Yesterday, when you were away, Lisbeth told 
me how much gratitude I owe you.” 

“ Lisbeth told you that !” cried he, in despair ; 
“yet I had forbidden her.” 

“Don’t reproach her, doctor,” said she, “I en- 
couraged her a httle. She likes to talk so much!” 

She smiled at my uncle, who calmed down 
immediately, and said : 

“Well, well, I ought to have foreseen that — let 
us say no more about it. But Hsten to me, 
Madame Therese : you must drive such thoughts 
from your mind. You must try to look at things 
cheerfully ; it’s necessary to the re-estabhshmenl 
of your health. AU will be well now, but we 
must try to assist nature by pleasant thoughts, 


212 


MADAME THERk'SE. 


according to the precepts of the father of medi- 
cine, the wise Hippocrates — ‘A strong soul’ said 
he, ‘ saves a weak body !’ The strength of the 
soul comes from pleasant, not sad thoughts. I 
wish this fountain was at the other end of the 
village, but since it’s here, and we can’t take it away, 
let us sit by the stove, so as not to see it any 
more — ^that will be much better.” 

“ I will gladly,” said . Madame Therese, rising. 
She leaned on Uncle Jacob’s arm ; he seemed 
very happy to support her. I rolled the arm- 
chair into its corner, and we took our places 
around the fire, whose crackling gladdened us. 
At times, in the distance, we heard a dog bark, and 
this piercing sound, which extends so far through 
the silent country in very cold weather, awoke 
Scipio, who got up, and ran toward the door, 
growling, with bristling moustache, then came 
back, and stretched himself out near my chair, 
thinking, no doubt, that a good fire was better 
than the pleasure of making a noise. Madame 
Therese, pale, with her long blue-black hair fail- 
ing over her shoulders, seemed calm and happy. 
We talked quietly, my uncle smoking his porce- 
lain pipe, with an air of gravity, full of satisfac- 
tion. 


MABAME THERESK 


213 


“But tell me, Madame Therese,” said he, in a 
few moments, “I thought I cut your jacket, and 
now it looks as good as new.” 

“Xiisbeth and I mended it yesterday. Monsieur 
Jacob.” 

“Ah! good, good! Then you know how to 
sew? That idea hadn’t occurred to me' before. 
I’ve always imagined you on a bridge, or some- 
where near a river, under fire.” 

Madame Therese smiled. 

“ I’m the daughter of a poor schoolmaster/’ 
said she, “and the first thing one must do in 
this world, when one is poor, is to learn how to 
earn a living. My father knew this ; all his 
children were taught some trade. It is only a 
year since we left, and not only our family, but 
aU the young men in the town and surrounding 
villages, with guns, axes, pitchforks and scythes — 
whatever we had — ^to go and meet the Prussians. 
Brunswick’s proclamation had roused aU the fron 
tier. We learned to drill on the way. Then my 
father, an educated man, was at once chosen cap- 
tain, by popular vote, and later, after some en- 
counters, he became commander of the battalion. 
Until our departure, I had helped him with his 
classes. I took charge of the young girls, and 


214 


MADAME THilRESE. 


taught them all that good housekeepers oughi 
to know. Ah, Monsieur Jacob, if any one had 
told me, then, that I should one day march 
with soldiers, that I should lead my horse by 
l.he bridle in the middle of the night, that 1 
should drive my cart over heaps of dead bod- 
ies, and often, during whole hours, see my way 
only by the light of the firing, I would not 
have believed it ; for I cared only for simple 
household duties. I was even very timid ; a 
look would make me blush in spite of myself. 
But what can we not do when great duties 
draw us from obscurity, when a country in dan- 
ger calls her children! Then the heart bounds, 
we are no longer the same, we march, fear is 
forgotten, and long afterward, we are astonished 
at being so changed, and having done so many 
things that we would have thought quite impos- 
sible r’ 

“Yes, yes,” said jny uncle, bending his head, 
“now I understand you — I see things clearly. 
Ah, it was thus that they rose — it was thus 
that men marched en mass^! See what an idea 
can do 1” 

We continued talking in this strain until near- 
ly noon, when Lisbeth came to lay the table, 


MADAME TH-DRESE. 


215 


and serve dinner. We watched her going and 
coming, spreading the cloth and placing the 
dishes, and when she brought the smoldng soup. 
Uncle Jacob said, very gaily : 

“Come, Madame Therese,” — arising, and helping 
her to walk — “come to the table. You are now 
our good grandmother Lehnel, the guardian of 
the domestic hearth, as my old Professor Eber- 
hardt, of Heidelberg, used to say.” 

She smiled, too, and when we were seated oppo- 
site each other, it seemed to us the natural order 
of things, that all must have been so ordained 
from olden times, and that until to-day one of our 
family had been wanting, whose presence made 
us happier. Even Lisbeth, bringing in the boiled 
meat, vegetables and roast, stopped each time to 
contemplate us with an air of profound satisfac- 
tion, and Scipio kept beside me as much as by 
his mistress, making no difference between us. 
My uncle helped Madame Therese, and as she was 
still weak, cut her meat for her, saying : 

“ One more little piece ! What you need now 
is strength ; eat that too, but then we will stop, 
for everything ought to be done in moderation.’ 

MTien we had nearly finished, he went out for 
a moment, and as I was wondering what he had 


216 


MADAME TH^1RESE. 


gone to do, he reappeared with an old bottle, 
with a large red seal, covered with dust. 

“There, Madame Therese,” said he, placing it 
on the table, “that is one of your fellow-country- 
men, who comes to wish you good health. AVe 
cannot refuse him that satisfaction, for he comes 
from Burgundy, and, they say, has a gay dispo- 
sition.” 

“ Is this the way you treat your patients. 
Monsieur Jacob?” asked Madame Therese, with 
emotion. 

“Yes, all — I order them whatever will give 
them pleasure.” 

“ATell, yours is true science — that which comes 
from the heart, and cures.” 

My uncle was going to pour out the wine, 
but stopping suddenly, he looked at the pa- 
tient with an air of gravity, and said, express- 
ively : 

“ I see that we agree better and better ; and 
you will finish by becoming converted to the 
doctrine of peace.” 

Then he poured some drops into my glass, 
and filled his and Madame Therese’s to the brim, 
laying : 

“ To your health, Madame Therese !” 


MABAME THERESE. 


217 


“To yours and Fritzel’s!” 

And we drank that old wine, the color of 
onion-skin, which I thought very good. We be- 
canie very gay. Madame Therese’s cheeks took a 
shght rose-tint, betokening the return of health. 
She smiled, and said : 

“This wine strengthens me.” Then she began 
to speak of rendering herseK useful in the house. 
“ I am already very strong ; I can work, I can 
mend your old linen ; you must have some, 

Monsieur Jacob?” 

“ Oh, no doubt, no doubt,” said my uncle, 

smiling ; “ Lisbeth’s eyes are not what they were 
at twenty ; she spends hours in darning one 

hole. You’ll be very useful to me, very useful. 

But it isn’t time for that yet. It’s stiU neces- 

sary for you to rest.” 

“But,” said she, looking at me sweetly, “if I 
can’t work, yet, you’ll at least permit me to take 
your place for Fritzel, sometimes. You haven’t 
time always to give him your good French lessons, 
and if you will” — 

“ Ah, that’s different !” cried Uncle Jacob ; “ yes, 
I call that an excellent idea, excellent. Listen, 
Fritzel: in future you wiU take your lessons of 
Madame Therese. You must try to profit by 


218 


MADAME TH£RESE. 


them, for good opportunities of instruction are 
rare — ^very rare !” 

I had become very red, for I was thinking 
how much time Madame Therese had ; but she, 
guessing my thoughts, said, kindly : 

“Don’t fear, Fritzel. I’ll give you plenty of 
time for play. We’ll read Buffon together, only 
one hour in the morning, and one at night. 
Don’t be afraid, my child. I won’t tire you too 
much.” 

She drew me gently to her, and kissed me. 
Then the door opened, and the mole-catcher and 
Koffel entered, gravely, dressed in their Sunday 
clothes. They had come to take coffee with us. 
It was easy to see that my uncle, on inviting 
them, in the morning, had told them of the 
courage and great fame of Madame Therese in 
the armies of the Republic, for they were by no 
means the same as usual. The mole-catcher no 
longer kept his fur cap on, and Koffel had put 
on a white shirt, the collar of which rose above 
his ears ; he held himself very straight, his hands 
in his vest pockets, and his wife must have put 
on a button to fasten the second suspender of his 
breeches, for they no longer hung upon one side, 
but were even on both : moreover, instead of his 


MADAME THERESE. 


219 


old clogs full of holes, he wore his best shoes. 
In short, both had the appearance of grave per- 
sonages coming for some extraordinary confer- 
ence, and both bowed very impressively, and 
said : 

“We salute the company!” 

“Good, it’s you!” said my uncle; “come, sit 
down.” Then turning toward the kitchen he 
cried : 

“Lisbeth, you may bring the coffee.” 

At that moment, glancing by chance at the 
window, he saw old Adam Schmitt passing, and 
rising immediately, tapped on the pane, saying : 

“ Here’s an old soldier of Frederic, Madame 
Therese ; you will be happy to make his acquaint- 
ance. He is a good man.” 

Father Schmitt had come to see what Uncle 
Jacob wanted, and Uncle Jacob, having opened 
the window, said : 

“ Father Adam, will you give us the pleasure 
of taking coffee with us? I always have that old 
cognac, you know!” 

“Willingly, doctor,” rephed Schmitt, “very will- 
ingly.” 

Then he appeared m the doorway, and making 
the mihtary salute, said : 


230 


MADAME THERESE. 


“Best respects!” 

Then the mole-catcher, Koffel, and Schmitt, 
standing around the table in embarrassment, be- 
gan to talk to each other in low tones, look- 
ing at Madame Therese, as if they had something 
very important to communicate, while Lisbeth took 
off the table cloth, and spread the oil cloth on, 
and Madame Therese continued to smile upon me, 
and pass her hand through my hair, without seem- 
ing to notice that they were talking about her. 
At last, Lisbeth brought the cups and the little 
decanters of cognac and tirschenwasser on a tray, 
and this sight made old Schmitt tmm roimd, his 
eyes twinkling. Lisbeth brought the coffee-pot, 
and my uncle said: 

“Let us sit down.” 

Everybody sat down, and Madame Therese, smil- 
ing on all these honest men, said; 

“Allow me to help you, gentlemen.” 

Immediately, Father Schmitt, again making the 
salute, answered : 

“Mihtary hDnors to you!” 

Koffel and the mole-catcher looked at him ad- 
mii’ingly, and each thought : “ That Father Schmitt 
has just said a sensible and suitable thmg.” 

Madame Therese filled the cups, and while thej^ 


MADAME THERESE. 


221 


drank in silence, my uncle, placing his hand on 
Father Schmitt’s shoulder, said : * 

“ Madame Therese, I present to you an old sol- 
dier of Frederic the Great, a man who, notwith- 
standing his campaigns and his wounds, his cour- 
age and his good conduct, became only a simple 
sergeant, but whom all the honest men in the vil- 
lage esteem as much as a captain.” 

Then Madame Therese looked at Father Schmitt, 
who straightened himself up in his chair with a 
feeling of natural dignity. 

“In the armies of the Eepublic, monsieur might 
have become a general,’* said she. “ If France 
now fights all Europe, it is because she will not 
allow that honors, fortune, and all the good things 
of the world, should crown the heads of a few, 
despite their vices ; and all the poverty and 
humiliations the heads of others, notwithstanding 
their merits and virtues. The nation finds this 
contrary to the law of God, and to change it, 
we wiU aU die, if it be necessary!” 

At first no one replied. Schmitt looked at 
this woman earnestly, his large gray eyes wide 
open. His hps were compressed, and he seemed 
to refiect. The mole-catcher and Koflel looked at 
each other ; Madame Therese seemed a httle ex' 


222 


MADAME THERESE. 


cited, and my uncle remained calm. I had left 
the table, for Uncle Jacob did not allow me to 
take coffee, thinking it injurious to children, and 
was standing behind the stove, looking and lis- 
tening. In a moment Uncle Jacob said to 
Schmitt : 

“Madame was cantiniere in the second battal- 
ion of the first brigade of the army of the Mo- 
seUe.” • 

“I know it already, doctor,” answered the old 
soldier ; “ and I also know what she did.” 

Then raising his voice, he cried : 

“Yes, madame, if I had had the happiness of 
serving in the armies of the Repubhc, I would 
have become a captain — ^perhaps even a colonel — 
or I would have died.” Then placing his hand 
on his breast — “ I was ambitious ; not to flatter 
myself, I wasn’t wanting in courage, and if I 
could have risen I would have been ashamed to 
remain in an inferior position. The king remarked 
me on several occasions — a rare thing for a com- 
mon soldier — and that was an honor. At Rosbach, 
while the captain behind us cried, “ Forward !” it 
was really Adam Schmitt who commanded the com- 
pany. Ah, well ! all that amounted to nothing ; and 
now, although I receive a pension from the King 


MADAME THJ^RESE. 


223 


of Prussia, Pm forced to say the Republicans 
are right. That’s my opinion.” 

Then he emptied his httle glass quickly, and 
winking in an odd manner, added : 

“ And they fight well, I saw that — yes — they 
fight well They have not the regular movements 
of old soldiers, yet, but they sustain a charge well, 
and it is by that one knows strong men in the 
ranks.” 

After these words of Father Schmitt’s they all 
began to praise the new ideas. One would have 
thought that the signal for a general confidence 
had just been given, and that each wished to reveal 
thoughts which he had long kept secret. Koffeh 
who was always complaining of not having re- 
ceived an education, said that all the children 
ought to go to school at the country’s expense ; 
that as God had not given more heart and mind 
to the nobles than to other men, each one had 
a right to the dew and the hght of heaven ; 
thus the good grain would not be choked hy 
tares, nor the culture which would help more 
useful plants be wasted upon thistles. 

Madame Therese rephed that the National 
Convention had voted fifty-four million francs for 
pubhc education — regretting that they could not 


211 


MADAME THtRESE. 


do more — at the time when all Europe was m 
arms against them, and they were obhged to sus- 
tain fourteen armies in the field. 

Koffel’s eyes filled with tears as he heard this, 
and I shall never forget how he said in a trem- 
bhng voice — 

“Well, God bless them, God bless them! So 
much the worse for us, but though I should lose 
everything through them, it is for their success 
that I will pray.” 

The mole-catcher remained silent a long time, 
but when he once began, there was no stopping 
him. Not only did he demand education for 
the children, but he desired the utter overturning 
of everything. One would not have supposed that 
so peaceable a man could entertain such ideas. 

“I say it’s shameful to seU regiments like droves 
of cattle !” cried he, earnestly, stretching out his 
hand over the table. “I say it’s still more shame- 
ful to sell the office of judge, for judges, to 
get their money back, sell justice ; — say that the 
Republicans have done well to abohsh the con- 
vents, in which idleness and all the vices flourish 
and everybody ought to be free to go, to come, 
to trade, to work, to advance in every walk of 
life, without any one’s opposing them. And, final- 


MADAME THERESE. 


225 


ly, I believe that if the drones won’t go, noi 
work, the good God wants the bees to get rid 
of them, as we’ve always seen, and always shall 
see, until the end of time.” 

Old Schmitt, then more at his ease, said hia 
ideas were the same as the mole-catcher’s and 
Koffel’s ; and my uncle, who until then had pre- 
served his calmness, could not help approving 
these sentiments, which are the truest, the most 
natural, and most just. 

“Only,” said he, “instead of wanting to do 
everything in a day, it’s much better to work 
slowly and progressively. We must employ gentle 
and persuasive means, as Christ did. That would 
be wiser, and 'the same results would be ob- 
tained.” 

Madame Therese smiled, and said : 

“Ah, Monsieur Jacob, no doubt, if everybody 
was hke you. But for how many hundred years 
has Christ preached kindness, justice, and gentle- 
ness to men? And yet, do your nobles listen? 
Do they treat the peasants like brothers? No, 
no! It is unfortunate, but war is necessary. In 
the three years which have just passed, the Re- 
pubhc has done more for the rights of man than 
was done in the eighteen hundred years before. 


226 


MADAME THERESE, 


Believe me, doctor, the resignation of good men 
is a great evil ; it emboldens the bad, and is 
productive of no good.” 

All agreed vrith Madame Therese, and Uncle 
Jacob was going to reply, when Clementz, the 
carrier, with his large hat covered with oil-clothj 
and his red leather bag, opened the door, and 
handed in the newspaper. 

“Won’t you take some coffee, Clementz?” said 
my uncle. 

“ No, Monsieur Jacob, thank you, I’m in a 
hurry; all the letters are late. Another time.” 

He went out, and we saw him run past the 
window. My uncle opened the paper, and began 
to read, gravely, the news of that far-off time. 
Although very young then, I remember it well. 
It seemed to verify the mole-catcher’s predictions, 
and inspired me with intense interest. The old 
Zeitblatt treated the Republicans as a kind of 
madmen who had conceived the audacious design 
of changing the eternal laws of nature. It re- 
called, at first, the terrible manner in which 
Jupiter had overwhelmed the Titans who had 
revolted against his throne ; crushing them under 
mountains, so that, since then, these unfortunates 
VC i lit ashes and flame from the sepulchres oi 


MAD A ME THERESE. 


227 


Vesuvius and Etna. Then it spoke of the melting 
of the bells stolen fi-om the worship of our fathers 
and transformed into cannon, — one of the greatest 
profanations that could be conceived, since what 
ought to give life to the soul was now destined 
to kill the body. It said, also, that the assignats 
were worth nothing, and that soon, when the nobles 
should again take possession of their chateaux, 
and the priests of their convents, those valueless 
papers would be good for nothing but to kindle 
the kitchen fires. It charitably warned people to 
refuse them, no matter at what cost. After this 
came the hst of executions, and unhappily, it 
was long ; so the Zeithlatt declared that the Re- 
pubhcans had changed the proverb that “wolves 
do not eat each other.” It laughed at the new 
era, styled Republican, whose months were called 
vendemiaire, hrumaire, frimaire, nivose, plavujse, etc. 
These madmen intended to change the courses of 
the stars, and to pervert the seasons, it said ; 
put winter into summer, and spring into autumn, 
so that one would no longer know when seed- 
time or harvest came ; they had no common 
sense, and all the peasants of France were indig- 
nant with them. 

So the Zeithlatt expressed itself. 


228 


MADAME THi:RESE. 


Koffel and the mole-catcher glanced at each 
other gravely, from time to time, during the 
reading. Madame Therese and Father Schmitt 
eeemed very thoughtful ; no one said anything. 
My uncle continued to read, stopping a second 
at each new paragraph, and the old clock went 
ticking on. 

Toward the last, the questions of the war 
of La Vendee came up, of the taking of Lyons, 
the occupation of Toulon by the Enghsh and 
Spanish, the invasion of Alsace by Wurmser, and 
the battle-field of Kaiserslautern, from which these 
famous Kepubhcans had run like hares. The 
Zeithlatt predicted that the Eepubhc would come 
to an end the following spring, and closed by 
these words of the prophet Jeremiah, which it 
addressed to the French people : 

‘‘ Thine ovm wickedness shall correct thee, and 
thy backslidings shall reprove thee ; know there- 
fore and see that it is an evil thing and bitter, 
that thou hast forsaken the Lord thy God.” 

Then my uncle folded the paper, and said, 

“What is one to think of all that? Every 
day they announce to us that the Republic is 
near its end ; six months ago it was surrounded 
on all sides, three quarters of its provinces had 


MADAME TIIERESE. 


229 


risen against it. La Vendee, and we, too, had 
gained great victories. Well, now it has repulsed 
us nearly everywhere, it stands against aU Europe 
as a great monarchy could not do ; we are no longer 
iu the heart of its provinces, but only on its 
fi-ontiers ; it advances even to our doors, and yet 
they say it is going to perish! If it were not 
the learned doctor Zacharias who writes these 
things, I should entertain great doubts of their 
good faith.” 

“ Ah, Monsieur Jacob,” replied Madame The- 
rese, “ perhaps this doctor sees things as he wishes 
them. That often happens, and does not prevent 
people from being sincere. They don’t wish to 
deceive, but they deceive themselves.” 

“As for me,” said Father Schmitt, rising, “all 
I know is that the Eepublicans fight well, and 
if the French have three or four hundred thou- 
sand like those I’ve seen, I fear more for our- 
selves than for them. That’s my opinion. As to 
Jupiter, who puts men under Vesuvius to make 
them vomit fire, — that’s a new kind of battery, 
that I know nothing about, but I’d like very weU 
to see it.” 

“And I,” said the mole-catcher, “think that 
Doctor Zacharias doesn’t know what he is talking 


230 


MADAME THERESE. 


about ; if I edited the paper, I should do other 
wise.” 

He stopped to take a coal from the furnace, 
for he felt great need of smoking. Old Schmitt 
followed his example, and as night had come, 
they went out together, Koffel last, pressing Unclg 
Jacob's hand and bo.wing to Madame Therese. 


XIII. 


Tee next day Madame Therese occupied her* 
self with household duties. She visited the 
presses, unfolded the table-clothes, towels, and 
shirts, and even the old yellow linen which had 
lain piled up there since gi*andmother Lehnehs 
time. She put aside what was worth repairing, 
while Lisbeth placed the large tub full of ashes 
in the wash-house. The water must boil till mid- 
night to make lye for the great washing. And 
for several days there was still more work — 
washing, drying, ironing, and mending, and all 
that. 

Madame Therese had not her equal for needle 
work. This woman, whom people had thought 
only fit to pour out glasses of brandy, and jog 
along in a cart behind a crowd of sans-culoUes, 
knew more about domestic matters than any gos* 


232 


MADAME THERESE. 


sip in Anstatt. She even showed us the art of 
embroidering wreaths, and of marking the fine 
linen with red letters, a thing of which we in 
the mountains were entirely ignorant until then, 
which proves what information is diffused by 
great revolutions. IMoreover Madame Therese 
helped Lisbeth in the kitchen, without interfering 
with her, knowing that the old servants cannot 
bear to have their arrangements disturbed. 

“You see, Madame Therese,” the old woman 
sometimes said, “how people’s notions change. 
At first I couldn’t endure you on account of 
your Repubhc, and now, if you were to go away, 
I believe all the house would go, and that we 
couldn’t five without you.” 

“ Oh,” answered she, smiling, “ every one has 
his own ways. When you did not know me you 
felt distrustful of me ; anybody in your place 
would have felt the same.” Then she added, 
sadly, “ Nevertheless I must go, Lisbeth. My 
place is not here. Other duties call me elsewhere.” 

She was always thinking of her battalion, and 
when Lisbeth cried out : 

“ Pshaw, you must stay with us, you can’t 
leave us now. You know that they think a great 
deal of you in the village ; the people respect 


MADAME THEBESE. 


23S 


you greatly. Leave your sans-culottes. It isn’t 
the life for an honest person to be struck by 
balls and other bad weapons, following the sol- 
diers. We won’t let you go away.” 

She shook her head, and one could easily see that 
some day she would say : To-day, I am going !” 

and that nothing could prevent her. 

On the other hand the discussions on war and 
peace continued. It was Uncle Jacob who recom- 
menced them. Every morning he came down to 
convert Madame Therese, saying that peace 
ought to reign on earth, that in the beginning 
peace had been estabhshed by God himself, not 
only among men, but among animals ; all rehg- 
ions teach the doctrine of peace ; all sufferings 
come from war, pestilence, murder, pillage, in- 
cendiarism ; there must be a chief at the head 
of governments to maintain order, and conse- 
quently nobles to support that chief ; these things 
had existed in all times ; among the Hebrews, 
the Egyptians, the Assyrians, the Greeks and 
Romans ; the republic of Rome had understood 
this ; the consuls and dictators were a kind of 
kings supported by noble senators, who were 
themselves supported by noble knights, who were 
above the people. Such was the natural order^ 


234 


MADAME THEHESE. 


and it could not be changed without detriment 
even to the poorest, for, said he, the poor, in 
disorder, no longer find means of gaining a liv 
ing, and perish like leaves in autumn, when thej 
fall from the branches which give them sap. He 
said many more things equally strong ; but Ma- 
dame Therese always found some good reply. 
She declared that men have equal rights by 
God’s will ; that rank ought to belong to merit, 
and not to blood ; wise laws, equal for aU, es- 
tabhsh only equitable differences among citizens, 
approving the actions of some, and condemning 
those of others ; it is shameful and miserable to 
grant honors and authority to those who do not 
merit *them; it is to degrade authority and hon- 
or itself, to cause them to be represented by un- 
worthy persons, and to destroy in all hearts the 
sentiment of justice by showiag that justice 
does not exist, since everything depends upon 
the accident of birth ; to estabhsh such a state 
of things men must be degraded, for intelligent 
beings would not suffer it ; such degradation is 
contrary to God’s laws ; that we must con- 
tend in every way with those who would bring 
it abo it for their own profit, and oppose them 
by aU means in our power, even by war, — the 


MADAME THERKSE. 


235 


most terrible of all, it is true, — but the siu of 
which falls upon the heads of those who pro- 
voke it by trying to estabhsh an everlasting ini- 
quity ! 

When my uncle heard these rephes he would 
become grave. If he had a jommey to take 
among the mountains, he would mount his horse 
very thoughtfully, and all day he would seek 
new and stronger reasons to convince Madame 
Therese. In the evening he would return more 
cheerful, with proofs which he considered invinci- 
ble, but his belief did not last long ; for this 
simple woman, instead of talking about the 
Greeks and Egyptians, saw at once into the 
depths of things, and destroyed my uncle’s histo- 
rical proofs by good sense. Yet, Uncle Jacob was 
not angry ; on the contrary, he exclaimed ad- 
miringly : 

“ What a woman you are, Madame Therese ! 
Without havmg studied logic, you have a reply 
for everything. I’d hke to see what kind of a 
face the editor of the Zeitblatt would make ar- 
guing with you. I’m sure you’d embarrass him, 
in spite of his great learniug and even his good 
cause ; for ours is the good cause, only I defend 
it poorly.” 


236 


MADAME TH£:RESE. 


Then they would both laugh, and Madame The 
rese would say : 

“ You defend peace very well. I agree with 
you ; only let us rid ourselves of those who de- 
sire war, and in order to get rid of them, let 
us wage it better than they. You and I will soon 
be of one opinion, for we are earnest and desire 
justice. But there are others who must be con- 
verted by cannon-shots, since that is the only 
voice they will hear, and the only reasoning which 
they understand.” 

My uncle would make no answer, and what 
gTeatly astonished me was that he even seemed con- 
tented with having been beaten. Next to these 
great pohtical discussions, that which gave him 
the most pleasure was to find me, on returning 
from his visits, taking my French lesson, Ma- 
dame Therese sitting with her arm around me, 
and I standing, bending over the book. He 
would come in softly, so as not to disturb us, 
and sit behind the stove, stretching out his legs, 
and listening in a sort of rapture. Sometimes 
he would wait half an hour before taking off 
his boots and putting on his loose jacket, he 
was so afraid of distracting my attention ; and 
when the lesson was finished, he would exclaim ; 


MABAME THERE^E. 


237 


“Very well, Fritzel, very well! You’re acquir- 
ing a taste for that beautiful language that Ma- 
dame Therese explains to you so well. How 
fortunate for you to have such a teacher ! 
You’ll reahze that after a while.” 

Then he would kiss me, much moved. 

What Madame Therese did for me he valued 
more than if it had been for himself. 

1 must say, also, that that excellent woman did 
not weary me for a single moment during our 
lessons ; if she saw my attention lag, she would 
immediately tell me little stories which aroused 
me ; there was especially a certain Eepubhcan 
Catechism, full of noble and touching incidents, 
the remembrance of which will never be effaced 
from my memory. 

Several days passed thus. The mole-catchei 
and Koffel came every evening as usual. Ma- 
dame Therese had entirely recovered, and it 
seemed as if this state of things would continue 
forever, when an extraordinary occurrence came to 
disturb our quiet, and to urge Uncle Jacob tc 
the most daring undertakings. 


XIV. 

One morning Uncle Jacob was gravely reading 
the Republican Catechism near the stove. Ma- 
dame Therese was sewing by the window, and 
I was watching for a good opportunity of mak- 
ing my escape with Scipio. Outside our neigh- 
bor Spick was sphtting wood. No other sound 
was heard in the village. My uncle’s book 
seemed to interest him very much. From time 
to time he would look up, and say, 

“These Repubhcans have good traits; they take 
a large view of men — their principles elevate the 
soul. It is really beautiful ! I can understand how 
the young adopt their doctrines, for aU young peo- 
ple who are healthy in body and mind love virtue. 
Thuse who become decrepit before they are old, from 
selfishness and bad passions, are just the oppo- 
site. What a pity tliat such men constantly have 
recourse to violence!” 


MADAME THERESE. 


239 


Then Madame Therese would smile, and he 
would resume his reading. This continued for 
about half an hour, and Lisbeth, after having 
swept the entry, was going to have her share of 
gossip at old Roesel’s as usual, when suddenly 
a man on horseback stopped at our door. He 
wore a large blue cloth cloak, a sheepskin cap, 
and had a snub-nose and gray beard. My uncle 
put down his book. We all looked at the stran- 
ger from the windows. 

“ Somebody has come after you for some sick 
person, doctor,” said Madame Therese. 

My uncle did not answer. The man, after 
fastening his horse to the post, entered the house. 

“Are you Doctor Jacob?” asked he, opening 
the door. 

“ I am he, sir.” 

“ Here is a letter from Doctor Feuerbach of 
Kaiserslautern. ” 

“Sit down, sir,” said Uncle Jacob. 

The man remained standing. My uncle became 
very pale on reading the letter. For a moment 
he seemed troubled, and looked at Madame The- 
rese anxiously. 

“ I must take back your answer, if there be any,” 
said the man. 


240 


MADAME THERESE. 


“ Tell Feuerbach that I thank him, — that is the 
only answer.” 

Then without adding anything he went out 
bareheaded '\;\'ith the messenger, whom we saw go 
down the street, leading his horse toward the 
Inn of the Little Golden Pitcher. Doubtless he was 
going to refresh himself before returning. We saw 
my uncle pass the window to go into the shed. 
Then Madame Therese seemed disturbed. 

“Fritzel,” said she, “go take your uncle his 
cap.” 

I went out at once, and found him walking 
up and down with long strides before the barn. 
He was still holding the letter, not thinking of 
putting it in his pocket. Spick was looking at 
him strangely from his doorway, leaning on his 
axe. Two or three of the neighbors, also, were 
looking from their windows. It was very cold 
out-of-doors, and I went in again. Madame 
Therese had laid down her work and was sitting 
pensively with her elbow on the window-sill. I 
sat down behind the stove, having no desire to 
go out again. I remembered all these things 
during my childhood; but what happened afterward, 
for a long time seemed like a dream, for I 
could not understand it. And it is only since I 


MADAME THERESE. 


241 


have grown older, that, thinking it over, I have 
understood it. I remember that my uncle came 
in a few minutes afterward, saying that men 
were scoundrels, creatures who sought only to 
injure each other ; that he sat down by the 

httle window not far from the door, and began 
to read his friend Feuerbach’s letter ; while Ma- 
dame Therese stood listening to him erect and 
calm, in her little jacket with its double row of 

buttons, her hair twisted at the back of her 

head. 

All this I see, and Scipio, too, in the middle 
of the room, with upturned head and curled up 
tail. But as the letter was written in Saxon 
German, aU that I could understand of it was 
that Uncle Jacob had been denounced as a Jaco- 
bin, at whose house the rabble of the country 
assembled to celebrate the Kevolution, — thaft Ma- 
dame Therese was also denounced as a dangerous 
woman, regretted by the Repubhcans on account 
of her extraordinary courage, and that a Prussian 
officer, accompanied by a sufficient escort, was 
coming for her the next day, and would send her 
to Mayence with the other prisoners. I remem- 
ber that Feuerbach advised my uncle to be 
very prudent, because the Prussians, since their 


242 


MADAME THERESE. 


victory at Kaiserslautern, were masters of th« 
country, and they were arresting all dangerous 
men and sending them to Poland, two hundred 
leagues from there, into the marshes, as an ex- 
ample to others. 

What seemed most astonishing to me was the 
manner in which Uncle Jacob, the calm man, 
the great lover of peace, became indignant at his 
old comrade’s advice. Our little sitting-room, usu- 
ally so peaceful, was that day the scene of a 
terrible storm, and I doubt whether it had ever 
seen the like, since the house was built. My 
uncle accused Feuerbach of being a self-seeker, 
ready to bow to the arrogance of the Prussians, 
who treated the Palatinate and the Hundsruck 
like a conquered country. He declared that laws 
existed in Mayence, in Treves, and Spire, as 
well as in France ; Madame Therese had been 
left for dead by the Austrians ; they had no 
right to reclaim persons and things which they 
had abandoned ; she was free ; he would suffer 
no one to lay his hand on her ; he would 
protest against it; the lawyer Pfeffel of Heidel- 
berg was his friend ; he would write, he would 
defend himself ; he would move heaven and earth , 
they should see if Jacob Wagner would allo^v 


MADAME THERESE. 


245 


riimself to be treated in that manner ; the} would 
be astonished at what a peaceable man was capable 
of doing for right and justice. 

As he talked he walked up and down with dis- 
ordered hair ; he quoted v at random in Latin all 

% 

the old laws that he could recall. He also spoke 
of certain sentences on the rights of man which 
he had just read, and from time to time he 
stopped, bent his knee, put his foot down with 
force, and- cried : 

“I stand on the basis of law — on the brazen 
foundations of our ancient charters. Let the 
Prussians come — ^let them come ! This woman is 
mine — I rescued her and saved her life. The thing 
abandoned, ‘ res derelicta est res publica, res vulgata.* ” 
t do not know where he had learned all this ; 
perhaps at the University of Heidelberg, hearing 
his companions argue among themselves. But at 
that time all these old studies passed through his 
min,d and he seemed to be replying to a dozen 
persons who were attacking him at once. 

Madame Therase remained calm, her long, thin 
face very thoughtful. No doubt my uncle’s quota- 
tions astonished her, but seeing things clearly, as 
usual, she understood her true position. It was 
only at the end of a long half-hour, when my 


244 


MADAME THilRESE. 


uncle opened his secretary and seated himself ta 
write to the lawyer Pfeffel, that she placed her 
hand gently on his shoulder, and said with emo- 
tion : 

“ Don’t write, Monsieur Jacob, it is useless. 
Before your letter arrives I shall be far away.” 

My uncle looked at her, turning very pale. 

“You want to go away, then?” he asked with 
trembling lips. 

“I am a prisoner,” said she, “I know that ; my 
only hope was that the Republicans, returning to 
the attack, would deliver me as they marched 
upon Landau ; but since it is otherwise, I must 

go-” 

“You want to go away!” repeated, he, despair- 
ingly. 

“Yes, doctor, I want to go, to spare you great 
annoyance ; you are too good, too generous to 
understand the strict laws of war ; you see only 
justice! But in time of war, justice is nothing, 
force is everything. The Prussians are conquerors, 
tliey will come and take me away because those are 
their orders. Soldiers know only their orders ; 
law, life, honor, man’s reason, are nothing; their 
orders are above all.” 

My uncle sank back in his arm-cham, his lai'ge 


MADAME THERESE. 


245 


eyes filled with tears, not knowing what to reply; 
but he took Madame Therese’s hand, and pressed 
it with great emotion, then rising with agitated 
face, he began to walk up and down, again in- 
voking the execration of future ages upon the 
oppressors of mankind, cursing Kichter and all 
scoundrels like him, and declaring in a voice of 
thunder that the Eepubhcans were right in defend- 
ing themselves ; their cause was just ; he saw it 
now ; and all the old laws, the old rubbish of 
ordinances, rules and charters of all sorts had 
never benefited any but the nobles and monks, 
to the injury of the poor. His face was swollen, 
he staggered, he could no longer speak plainly, 
but stammered. He said that everything ought 
to be wholly abohshed ; courage and virtue only 
ought to triumph, and finally, in an extraordinary 
kind of enthusiasm, his arm extended toward 
Madame Therese, and his face red even to his 
neck, he proposed to take her in his sleigh to 
the mountain, to the house of a woodcutter — one 
of his friends — ^where she would be safe. He 
seized her hands, and said : 

“Let us go — ^let us go there — ^you will be well 
cared for in old Ganglofs house. He is entirely 
devoted to me — saved his Hfe, and his son’s-^ 


246 


MADAME THERESE. 


they will conceal yoii — ^the Prussians will not go 
look for you in the passes of the Lauterfelz!” 

But Madame Therese refused, saying that if 
the Prussians should not hnd her at Anstatt, 
they would arrest him in her place ; and she 
would rather risk perishing of fatigue and cold 
on the highway, than expose to such a mis- 
fortune, a man who had rescued her from among 
the dead. She said this very firmly, but my uncle 
would give no weight to such reasons. I remem- 
ber that what troubled him most was the thought 
of seeing Madame Therese going away with bar- 
barous men, savages from the depths of Pomera- 
nia ; he could not endure this idea, and cried : 

“ You are weak — ^you are still an invahd ! These 
Prussians respect nothing — they are a race full of 
boasting and brutahty. You don’t know how they 
treat their prisoners. I have seen it myself — it is a 
disgrace to my country — I would have concealed 
this, but I must acknowledge it now, it is fright- 
ful!” 

“No doubt. Monsieur Jacob,” rephed she; “I 
know that from the old prisoners of our battalion. 
We shall march two by two, or four by four, 
sad, sometimes without bread, often hurried and 
brutally treated by the escort. But your peasants 


MADAME THERESE. 


247 


are good — they are honest men — they have pity 
— and the French are gay, doctor, — the journey 
will be the only hardship ; and moreover I shall find 
ten, twenty of my comrades to carry my little bundle* 
the French respect women. I see it beforehand,’’ 
said she, smihng sadly : “ one of us will march 
before, singing an old air of Auvergne to mark 
the step, or else a more joyous Proven9al song, 
to brighten your dark skies. We shall not be so 
unhappy as you think. Monsieur Jacob.” 

She spoke gently, her voice trembling a little, and 
as she was speaking I could see her with her httle 
bundle in the file of prisoners, and my heart sank. 
Oh, then I knew how much we loved her, how it 
would pain us to see her go away. Suddenly I 
burst into tears, and my uncle sitting opposite the 
secretary, his face in his hands, remained silent, 
but gTeat tears flowed slowly down his cheeks. 
Madame Therese, seeing this, could not help weep- 
ing. She took me tenderly in her arms, and 
kissed me warmly, saying ; 

“ Don’t cry, Fritzel ; don’t cry so. You’ll think 
of me sometimes — won’t you? I shall never for 
get you.” 

Scipio alone remained calm, walking around tha 
stove, and understanding nothing of our trouble 


248 


MADAME THtRESE. 


It was not until nearly ten o’clock, when we hearc 
Lisbeth lighting the kitchen fire, that we became 
somewhat calm. 

Then my imcle, blowing his nose forcibly, said : 

“ Madame Therese, you must go, since you 
really wish to, but it is impossible for me to allow 
the Prussians to come here and take you away 
like a thief, and lead you through the whole 
village. If one of those brutes should speak a 
cruel or insolent word to you, I should forget 
myself, for my patience would be at an end ; I 
feel it, I should be capable of proceeding to 
great extremities. Let me take you to Kaisers- 
lautern myself, before those people come. We will 
leave early in the morning, between foim and five 
o’clock, in my sleigh ; we will take the by-roads, 
and will get down there by noon at the latest. 
Do you consent?” 

“ Oh, Monsieur Jacob, how could I refuse this 
last proof of your affection?” said she, much 
moved. “I accept it with gratitude.” 

“We wiU do so, then,” said he gravely. “And 
nt)w let us dry our tears, and drive away these 
bitter thoughts as much as possible, so as not 
to sadden the last moments that we shall spend 
together.” 


MADAME THDRESE. 


2-19 


He kissed me, putting back the hair from my 
forehead, and said : 

“ Fritzel, you’re a good child ; you have an 
excellent heart. Remember that your Uncle Jacob 
has been satisfied with you this day. It is good 
to say to ourselves that we have given satisfaction 
to those who love us I” 


XV. 


From that moment quiet returned to our house 
Every one thought of Madame Thereso’s depart 
ure, of the great void that would be left in oui 
home, of the sadness which would for weeks and 
months succeed the pleasant evenings that we 
had passed together, of the sorrow of the mole- 
catcher, Koffel, and old Schmitt, on learning the 
bad news ; the more we thought of it, the more 
causes for grief and loneliness we discovered. "What 
seemed to me the most bitter, was parting from 
my friend Scipio. I dared not say it, but when 
I considered that he was going away, that I 
could no longer walk with him in the village, in 
the midst of universal admiration, nor have the 
happiness of making him drill — that I should be 
as I was before he came, walking alone, my hands 
in my pockets, and my cotton cap drawn over 


MADAME THERESE. 


251 


my ears, without honor, and without glory, — such 
a disaster seemed to me the height of misery. 
And what caused the bitter cup to overflow, was 
that Scipio had just placed himseK before me, 
looking at me from under his frowsy eyebrows, 
as sorrowfully as if he understood that we were 
going to be separated forever. Oh, when I think 
of these things even now, I am surprised that 
my thick, fair curls did not turn quite gray, in 
the midst of such distracting thoughts. I could 
not even cry, my sorrow was so great. I remamed 
with head upturned, my lips trembling, and my 
hands clasped around one knee. 

My uncle was walking up and down with long 
strides, and occasionally he coughed a httle, and 
then quickened his steps. 

Madame Therese, always active, despite her sad- 
ness, and her red eyes, had opened the chest 
of old linen, and was cutting from thick cloth 
a kind of bag with double straps, in which 
to put her things for the journey. We could 
hear the crunching of her scissors on the table. She 
arranged the pieces with her usual skill. At last, 
when all was ready, she drew from her pocket 
a needle and thread, sat down, put on her thim- 
ble, and after that we could see her hand coming 


252 


MAVAME THtRESE. 


and going like lightning. This was all done in 
the greatest silence. We heard only my uncle’s 
heavy step on the floor, and the measured tick- 
ing of our old clock, which neither our joys nor 
our sorrows could hasten or delay one second. 
Thus goes hfe ; — time as it passes does not ask, 
“ Are you sad ? Are you gay ? Do you weep ? 
Do you laugh? Is it spring, autumn, or winter?” 
It goes on, goes on, always ; and those millions 
of atoms that whirl about in a ray of sunlight, 
and whose life begins and ends from one “tic- 
tac” to another, are of as much account to it, as 
the existence of an old man of a hundred years. 
Alas! we are but trifles. 

Lisbeth having come in toward noon to lay the 
cloth, my uncle stopped his walk, and said: 

“ You must cook a httle ham for to-morrow 
morning. Madame Therese is going away.” 

And as the old woman looked at him in amaze- 
ment — 

“The Prussians claim her as their prisoner,” 
said he, in a hoarse voice; “they have force on 
their side ; they must be obeyed.” 

Then Lisbeth put her plates on the table, and 
looking from one to the other, settled her cap 
as if this news had disarranged it, and said : 


MADAME THERESE. 


253 


Madame Therese going away ? — that isn’t posr 
sible— I’ll never believe that!” 

“It’s necessary, my poor Lisbeth,” replied Ma^ 
dame Therese, sadly ; “ it’s necessary ; I’m a pris- 
oner — tney are coming to look for me.” 

“The Pmssians?” 

“Yes, the Prussians.” 

Then the old woman, choking with anger, said ; 

“I always thought the Prussians were no great 
things — a heap of scoundrels — real ruffians*! Com- 
ing to attack an honest woman! If men had two 
farthings’ worth of heart, would they suffer it?” 

“And what would you do?” asked Uncle Ja- 
cob, his face hghting up, for the old servant’s in- 
dignation secretly pleased him. 

“I? I’d load my cavahy pistol,” cried Lisbeth, 
“ and caU to them through the window, ‘ Leave, 
ruffians! don’t come in here, or beware!’ And 
the first one who should pass through the door. 
I’d stretch out, stiff. Oh, the wretches!” 

“Yes, yes,” said my uncle, “that’s the treatment 
such men ought to receive. But we’re not the 
strongest.” 

Then he resumed his walk, and Lisbeth, tiem- 
bhng aU over, arranged the dishes. We ate oui 
dinner very silently. When we had finished, m^ 


254 


MADAME THMeSE. 


uncle went to get a bottle of old Burgundy fiom tlie 
cellar, and came back, saying sadly, 

“ Let us rejoice our hearts a little, and fortify 
ourselves against these great sorrows which over- 
whelm us. Before your departure let this old 
wine which has strengthened you, Madame The- 
rese, and gladdened us all with a day of happiness, 
sparkle again in our midst hke a ray of sunlight, 
and scatter for a few moments the clouds that sur- 
round us.” 

As he said this, in a firm voice, we for the first 
time recovered our courage a httle. But when, a 
few minutes after, he told Lisbeth to get a glass 
to drink with Madame Therese, and the poor old 
woman burst into tears, with her face in her apron, 
our firmness vanished, and we all cried together ir 
great distress. 

“Yes, yes,” said Uncle Jacob, “we have beer 
very happy together — such is the hfe of man — ^joy* 
ful moments pass quickly, and sorrow lasts long 
He who looks down upon us from above knows, 
nevertheless, that we do not deserve to suffer thus; 
that wicked men have made us miserable ; but He 
knows, also, that power, true power is in His hand, 
and that He can make us happy whenever He 
wishes. This is why He permits these iniquities — 


MADAME THERESK 


25C 


He will reward us. Then let us be calm and 
fcrusi in Him. To the health of Madame Therese !” 

And we all drank, the tears running down our 
cheeks. Lisbeth, hearing the power of God men- 
tioned, was somewhat quieted, for she was pious, 
and thought that things ought to be as they are, 
for the greatest good of all in the hfe eternal, but 
she did not the less continue to cmrse the Prussians, 
and all who were like them, from the bottom of 
her soul. 

After dinner my uncle charged her particu- 
larly not to tell of what was going to happen 
in the village, for if she did, Eichter, and aU the 
bad men in Anstatt, would be there the next day 
to see Madame Therese depart, and to rejoice in 
our humiliation. She understood him very well, 
and promised to be discreet. Then my uncle went 
to see the mole-catcher. All that afternoon I did 
not leave the house. Madame Therese continued 
her preparations for departure. Lisbeth helped 
her, and wanted to crowd into her bag a quanti- 
ty of useless things, saying that all would be 
needed on the way — one is glad to find what one 
has put in a corner.; that having gone to Pu’- 
masens one day she missed her comb and braided 
ribbons ^ery much. 


256 


MADAME THERkSE. 


Madame Therese smiled. 

“No, Lisbeth,” said she, “remember that I’m 
not going to travel in a carriage, iind that I 
have to carry everything on my back. Three 
good chemises, three handkerchiefs, two pairs of 
shoes, and a few pairs of stockings are enough. 
At every halting-place we stop an hour or two 
at the spring, and do our washing. You don’t 
know what a soldier’s washing is ? How many 
times I have done it ! We French hke to be 
neat, and we are so, with our httle bundle.” 

She seemed cheerful, and it was only when 
she occasionally addressed some friendly words 
to Scipio that her voice became very sad. I did 
not know why, but I knew later, when Fncle 
Jacob returned. The day wore on. At four 
o’clock night began to fall. All was now ready ; 
the bag containing Madame Therese’s things 
hung on the wall. She sat down by the stove, 
taking me on her lap in silence. Lisbeth went 
into the kitchen to prepare supper, and after 
that not a word was spoken. The poor woman 
was doubtless thinking of the future which 
awaited her on her way to Mayence, in the 
midst of her companions in misfortune. She said 
nothing, and I felt her sweet breath on my cheek. 


MADAME THtRESE. 


257 


Half an hour afterward, when it was quite 
dark, my uncle opened- the door, and asked : 

“Are you there, Madame Therese?” 

“ Yes, doctor.” 

‘^Good, good! I’ve been to see my patients— 
I’ve told Koffel, the mole-catcher, and old Schmitt. 
All’s right — they’ll be here this evening to re- 
ceive your adieux.” 

His voice was firm. He went into the kitchen 
to get a hght, and returning, seemed much 
pleased to see us together. 

“ Fritzel behaves well,” said he. “ Now he is 
going to lose your good lessons ; but I hope he 
whl practise reading French alone, and remem- 
ber always that a man is worthy only in pro- 
portion to his knowledge. I rely upon that.” 

Then Madame Therese made him examine her 
little bag in detail. She smiled, and my uncle 
said : 

“ What happy dispositions the French have 
In the midst of the greatest misfortunes thej 
preserve a store of natural gayety ; their sorrow 
never lasts many days. That is what I call a gift 
from God, the finest, the most desirable of ah.” 

But on that day, — the remembrance of which 
will never be effaced from my memory, because it 


258 


MADAME THDRESE. 


was the first time I had witnessed the unhappi* 
ness of those I loved, — in all that day, what touched 
me most, was this: — a httle while after sapper, 
IVIadame Therese, sitting quietly behind the stove, 
Scipio’s head on her knees, looking dreamily be- 
fore her, said suddenly : 

“ Doctor, I owe you much — and yet I must ask 
one more favor of you.” 

“What is it, Madame Therese?” 

“ It is that you wiU take care of my poor 
Scipio — take care of him, in remembrance of 
me. Let him be Fritzel’s companion, as he has 
been mine, that he may not have to endure the 
new trials of a prisoner’s life.” 

When she said that, I felt my heart swell, and 
I trembled aU over with dehght and tender- 
ness. I was sitting on my little low chair be- 
fore the fire. I drew my Scipio to me, and 
plunged my two coarse red hands into his thick 
hair ; a flood of tears rushed down my face. lii 
seemed to me that I had lost aU the blessings of 
heaven and earth, and they had just been restored 
to me. 

My uncle looked at me in surprise. He must 
have understood what I had suffered at the 
thought of being separated from Scipio, for in- 


MADAME THEEESE. 


25S 


Btead of speaking to Madame Tlier^e of the 
sacrifice which she was making, he said, simply : 

“ I accept, Madame Therese, I accept for Frit- 
zel, that he may remember how much you 
loved him ; that he may always recollect that in 
your greatest sorrow you left him, as a mark of 
your affection, a good faithful creatui’e, — not only 
your own companion, but little Jean’s, your 
brother’s, also. Let him never forget it, and love 
you too.” 

Then turning to me : 

“ Fritzel, don’t you thank Madame Theresa ?” 

I got up, and not being able to say a word, 
from sobbing, threw myseff into that excellent 
woman’s arms, where I remained, my arm cn 
her shoulder, looking through great tears at 
Scipio, who was at our feet, and touching liiin 
with my finger-ends, with an unspeakable joy. 
It was some time before I could be quieted. 
Madame Therese kissed me, saying : 

“This child has a good heart. He becomes 
attached to one easily — that is good !” which 
increased my tears. She smoothed the hair fi-om 
my forehead, and seemed moved. 

After supper, Koffel, the mole-catcher, and old 
Schmitt came in, their caps under their anna 


2C0 


MADAME THERESE. 

They expressed to Madame Therese their grief at 
parting from her, and their indignation against 
that scoundrel, Eichter, to whom everybody at- 
tributed the denunciation, for he alone was ca- 
pable of such an act They sat around the 
stove. Madame Therese was touched with the 
sorrow of these honest people, but nevertheless 
her firmness and decision did not desert her. 

Listen, my friends,” said she: “if the world 
were strewn with roses, and if we found every- 
where only noble men to celebrate justice and 
right, what merit would there be in advocating 
these principles? Eeally, it would not be worth 
the trouble of living. We happen to hve in 
times ha which great things are done, when lib- 
erty is fought for. We shall at least be remem- 
bered, and our existence will not have been 
useless ; all our poverty, all our sufferings, aU 
the blood w^hich we have shed will form a sub- 
lime spectacle for future generations ; wicked men 
will quake when they think that they might 
have encountered and been swept away by us, 
and all great souls will regret not having been 
alive to share our labors. These are the teach- 
ings of events. Do not pity me then. I am 
proud and happy to suffer for France, who rep- 


MADAME THERESE. 


261 


resents liberty, right, and justice, in the world. 
You beheve us beaten ? That is a mistake. We 
retreated one step yesterday ; we will take 
twenty steps forward to-morrow. And if France 
one day is so unfortunate as no longer to rep- 
resent the great cause that we defend, other 
people wiU take our places, and carry on oui 
work, for justice and freedom are immortal, and 
all the despots in the world will never succeed 
in destroying them. As for me, I may go to 
Mayence, and perhaps to Prussia, escorted by 
Brunsvdck’s soldiers ; but remember what I say 
to you : the Repubhcans have made only their 
first day’s march, and I am sure that before the 
close of next year they will come to dehver me.” 

Thus spoke this proud woman, smiling, with 
hashing eyes. We could easily see that suffering 
was nothing to her, and each one thought, “If 
these are the Kepubhcan women, what must the 
men be?” 

Koffel grew pale with pleasure, as he hstened 
to her. The mole-catcher winked at my uncle, and 
said, very low : 

“I’ve known all that a long time ; it’s writ- 
ten in my book. These things must happen — it’s 
written !” 


262 


MADAME THERESE. 


Old Schinitt, having asked permission to light 
his pipe, blew great puffs, one after another, 
and murmured between his teeth : 

“ How unfortunate that I’m not twenty years 
old ! I would join those people ! That’s what 
I’d do. What could prevent me from becoming 
a general, like any other man? How unfortu* 
nate I” 

At nine o’clock my uncle said ; 

“ It’s late. We must leave before day. I think 
we had better lake a little rest.” 

And everybody rose with emotion. They kissed 
like old friends, promising never to forget each 
other. Koffel and Schmitt went out first ; the 
mole-catcher and my uncle stopped a moment in 
the doorway, talking in low tones. The moon- 
light was superb, the earth was aU white, the 
sky of a dark-blue, crowded with stars. Madame 
Therese, Scipio, and I went out together to see 
this magnificent sight, which makes one feel the 
littleness and vanity of human beings, and 
overwhelms the mind with its ilhmitable grandeur. 

Then the mole-catcher went away, pressing my 
uncle’s hand again. We saw him as if it were 
broad daylight, walking down the deserted street. 
At last he disappeared at the corner of Ortiea 


MALAME THtRESE. 


265 


Lane, and as it was very cold, we all went in 
to say g'ood-niglit. 

My uncle kissed me at the door of my cham- 
ber, and said in a strange voice, pressing me to his 
heart — 

“ Fritzel — work — work — and behave well, dear 
child !” 

He went into his room, much agitated. 

For my part, I could only think of the happiness 
of taking care of Scipio. Once in my room, I 
put him on the bed, at my feet,, between the 
warm feather bed and the bedstead. He lay 
quiet, with his head between his paws. I could 
feel his sides dilate gently at every breath, and 
I would not have changed places with the Em- 
peror of Germany. I could not sleep until after 
ten o’clock, for thinking of my happiness. My 
uncle was moving about in his room. I heard 
him open his secretary and afterward make a fire 
in his chamber stove for the first time that 
winter, and I thought lie intended to sit up. At 
last I slept soundly. 


X\ 1 . 

The church-clock was striking nine when I 
was awakened by a clattering of hoofs before 
our house ; horses were stamping on the hard 
ground, and I heard people talking at our door. 
It immediately occurred to me that the Prussians 
had come to take Madame Therese, and I hoped 
with all my heart that Uncle Jacob had not 
slept as long as I had. Two minutes afterward 
I went down stairs, and found at the entrance 
five or six hussars wrapped in their cloaks, 
great scabbards hanging below their stirrups, and 
swords in their hands. The officer, a small, 
thin, fair man, with hoUow cheeks, prominent 
cheek-bones, and thick reddish moustaches, was 
seated on a great black horse, and Lisbeth, broom 
in hand, was replying to his questions with a 
frightened air. Farther off, was a group of peO' 


MADAME THERESE. 


265 


pie, open-mouthed, pressing eagerly forward to lis' 
ten. Among the foremost, I noticed the mole- 
catcher, his hands in his pockets, and M. Eichter, 
who was smiling, haH-closing his eyes, and showing 
his teeth hke a happy old fox. He had come, 
no doubt, to enjoy my uncle’s confusion. 

“So your master and the prisoner went away 
together this morning?” said the officer. 

“ Yes, monsieur le commandant” answered Lis- 
beth. 

“ At what hour ?” 

“ Between five and six, monsieur le commandant ; 
it was still dark. I fastened the lantern to the 
pole of the sleigh.” 

“You had heard we were coming, then?” said 
the officer, giving her a piercing glance. 

Lisbeth looked at the mole-catcher, who came 
out from the circle, and answered, for her, with- 
out hesitation : 

“ I beg your pardon, sir, I saw Dr. Jacob last 
evening — he’s one of my friends. This poor wo- 
man knows nothing about it. The doctor has 
been tired of the Frenchwoman for a long time, 
he wanted to get rid of her, and when he saw 
that she could bear the journey he profited by 
the first moment.” 


206 


MADAME THERE3E. 


“But why did we not meet them on the way 
cried the Prussian, scanning the mole-catcher from 
head to foot. 

“You must have taken the valley road; the 
doctor went, perhaps, by the way of Waldeck and 
the mountain. There’s more than one road to 
Kaiserslautern. ” 

The officer, without replying, sprang from his 
horse, entered our room, pushed open the kitch- 
en door, and pretended to look round ; then he 
came out and said, as he mounted his horse — 

“ Come, our work is done ; the rest doesn’t con- 
cern us.” 

He rode toward the Little Gold Pitcher ; his men 
followed, and the crowd dispersed, talking over 
these wonderful occurrences. Kichter seemed con- 
fused and angry, and Spick looked at us askance. 
They went up the steps of the inn together, and 
Scipio, who was on our steps, ran out, barking 
at them with all his might. 

The hussars refreshed themselves at the Little 
Gold Pitcher, then we saw them pass our house 
again on the road to Kaiserslautern, and after 
that we heard no more of them. 

Lisbeth and I thought my uncle would return 
at night, but when that day passed, and the 


MADAME THERESE. 




next, and the next, without our even receiving a 
letter, our anxiety may be imagined. Scipio went 
up and down the hou&c, and thrust his nose, from 
morning till evening, in at the bottom of the 
door, calling Madame Therese, snuffing, and cry- 
ing in a lamentable way. His sorrow infected 
us. A thousand thoughts of misfortune came into 
our minds. The mole-catcher came to see us 
every evening, and said : 

“There’s nothing to be frightened about. The 
doctor wanted to protect Madame Therese ; he 
couldn’t let her go with the prisoners, that would 
be contrary to good sense ; he has asked an 
audience of Field Marshal Brunswick to try to 
induce him to allow her to enter the hospital 
of Kaiserslautern. All these steps take time, — be 
calm ; he’U come back.” 

These words would reassure us a little, for the 
mole-catcher seemed very calm. He smoked his 
pipe by the stove, with outstretched legs, and 
dreamy face. 

Unfortunately the forest-guard, Koedig, who 
lived in the wood on the road from Pirmasens, 
where the French then were, had just brought a 
report to the mayoralty of Anstatt, and having 
stopped a few minutes at Spick’s inn, he said 


^68 MADAME THERESE. 

UncJe Jacob had passed his house three days before, 
about eight o’clock in the morning, and he and 
Madame Therese had even stopped a moment to 
warm themselves and drink a glass of wine. He 
said my uncle seemed in very good spirits, and had 
two long cavah-y pistols m his overcoat pockets. 

Then the report spread that Uncle Jacob, in- 
stead of gomg to Kaiserslautern, had conducted 
the prisoner to the Bepubheans, and that caused 
great scandal. Kichter and Spick declared, every- 
where, that he deserved to be shot; that it was 
an abomination, and his property must be confisca- 
ted. The mole-catcher and Koffel answered that 
the doctor had no doubt lost his way on ac- 
count of the gi’eat snow; that he had taken the 
mountain road to the left instead of turning to 
the right ; but everybody knew very well that 
Uncle Jacob was more famihar with the country 
than any smuggler, and the indignation increased 
daily. I could no longer go out without hearing 
my companions say that Uncle Jacob was a Ja- 
cobin ; and I had to fight in his defence, and 
despite Scipio’s assistance, I came home more 
than once with a bloody nose. 

Lisbeth was in despair, especially at the threats 
of confiscation. 


MADAME THERESE. 209 

“'What a misfortune!” said she, clasping hei 
hands ; “ what a misfortune to be forced, at m;y. 
age, to take my bundle and leave a house 
where half of my life has been passed!” 

It was very sad. The mole-catcher alone pre- 
served his tranquillity. 

“ You are crazy to fret so,” said he ; “ I tell 
you Dr. Jacob is well, and that they will con- 
fiscate nothing. Keep youi'self quiet, eat well, 
sleep well, and I’ll answer for the rest.” 

He winked mischievously, and always ended ]>y 
sa;ydng : 

“ My book relates these things. Now they are 
being accomplished, and all will be well.” 

Notwithstanding these assurances things went 
from bad to worse, and the rabble of the vil- 
lage, excited by the scoundrel Eichter, were be- 
ginning to shout under our windows, when one 
fine morning, order was suddenly restored. To- 
waids evening the mole-catcher arrived, with a 
very joyous face, and took his usual place, say 
ing to Lisbeth, who was spinning : 

“WeU, they don’t shout any more, they no 
longer wish to confiscate ; they keep very quiet, 
ha ! ha ! ha !” 

He saitl no more, but in the night we heard 


m 


MADAME THERESE. 


many carriages passing, and men marching in 
crowds through the main street. It was worse 
than the arrival of the Eepublicans, for no one 
stopped — they went on and on always! I could 
not sleep, for Scipio growled every minute. At 
daybreak, I looked out of the window, and saw half 
a score more of large wagons, full of wounded men, 
jolting along in the distance. It was the Prussians. 
Then came two or three cannon, then a hundred 
hussars, cuirassiers, dragoons, pell-mell, in great dis- 
order ; then dismounted horsemen, carrying their 
cloak-bags on their shoulders, and covered with 
mud. They all seemed tired: but they did not 
stop, nor go into any of the houses, but marched 
as if the devil were at their heels. 

The people, standing at their doors, watched 
them suUenly. Looking toward the Birkenwald, 
we could see the files of ambulances, wagons, 
cavalry and infantry, stretching beyond the forest. 
It was Field Marshal Brunswick’s army in retreat 
after the battle of Froeschwiller — as we learned 
later. It had passed through the village in a 
single night ; that was from the 28th to the 29 th 
of December, if I remember rightly ; it was early 
in the next day that the mole-catcher and Koffel 
ai 1 i ?ed in high spirits ; they had a letter from 


MADAME THERESE. 


271 


Uncle Jacob ; and the mole-catcher, showing it to 
ns, said : 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! this is good — this is good ! the 
reign of justice and equality is beginning! Lis- 
ten awhile 1” 

He sat down by the table, spreading out his 
elbows. I stood near him, and read over his 
shoulder, Lisbeth was behind me, very pale, and 
Koffel, leaning against the cupboard, smihng and 
stroking his chin. They had already read the 
letter two or three times, and the mole-catcher 
knew it nearly by heart. 

He read what follows, stopping sometimes to 
look at us with enthusiasm : 

WissEMBOTjitG, 8th Nivose, 2nd Year ‘ 

OF the French Republic. f 

“ To the Gitizens Mole-catcher, and Koffel; to the Citoyenne 
Lifibeth; to the little Citizen Friizel, greeting and frater- 
nity I 

. “Citoyenne Thdr^se and I wish you joy, peace, and pros- 
perity. 

“You will know by this that we are writing these lines 
'at Wissenbourg in the midst of the triumphs of war. We 
drove the Prussians from Froeschwiller, and fell like a 
iL'Underbolt on the Austrians at Geisberg. Thus pride and 
presumption are receiving their reward. When people will 
not listen to good reasons, we must give them better ones • 


272 


MADAME TH^:RESE. 


but it is terrible to go to such extremities ; yes, it is ter- 
rible ! 

“My dear friends, for a long time I groaned inwardly 
at the blindness of those who rule the dynasties of old 
Germany. I deplored their unjust spirit, their egotism. 1 
asked myself if it were not my duty as an honest man 
to break away from these arrogant creatures, and adopt 
the principles of justice, equality, and fraternity, pro- 
claimed by the French Revolution. This threw me into 
great trouble, for a man clings to the ideas that he has 
received from his ancestors, and such internal changes are 
not made without great suffering. Still I hesitated, but 
when the Prussians, contrary to the laws of nations, 
claimed the unfortunate prisoner whom I had saved, I 
could bear it no longer. I immediately resolved to take 
her to Pirmasens, instead of Kaiserslautern — which I have 
done with the help of God. At three o’clock in the after- 
noon we came in sight of the outposts, and as Madame 
Th^r^se looked out, she heard the drum, and cried : 
“These are the French! Doctor, you have deceived me!” 
She threw herself into my arms, and burst into tears, and 
I, too, began to weep — I was so much moved ! 

“All along the route from Trois-Maisons to the square 
of the Temple-Neuf, the soldiers shouted, “Here’s Oitoyenm 
Therrse !” They followed us, and when we got out of the 
sleigh, several embraced me with true feeling. Others 
pressed my hands — in fact they overwhelmed me with 
honors. 

“I will not tell you, my dear friends, of the meeting 
between Madame The'r^se and little Jean ; such scenes 


MADAME THtEESE. 


273 


2 annot be described ! All the veterans of the battalion, 
even Colonel Duch^.ne, who is not soft-hearted, turned 
their heads to conceal their tears. It was such a sight as 1 
had never seen in my life. Little Jean is a good boy ; 
he resembles my dear little Fritzel very much, so I love 
him dearly. 

“That day extraordinary events occurred at Pirmasens. 
The Kepublicans were encamped around the city. General 
Hoche announced that they were going into winter quar- 
ters, and ordered them to build barracks. But the soldiers 
refused ; they wanted to lodge in the houses. Then the 
general declared that those who refused this service, should 
not march to -battle. I was present at this proclamation, 
which was read to the companies, and saw General Hoche 
forced to pardon the men, in front of the prince’s palace, 
for they were in the greatest despair. 

“The general having learned that a physician from An- 
statt had brought Citoyenne The'rese back to the first 
battalion of the second brigade, I received an order about 
eight o’clock to go to the Orangery. Then I found the 
General standing near a deal table, dressed like a simple 
captain, with two other citizens, whom I was told, were 
members of the convention, Lacoste and Baudot, two large, 
lank men, who looked at me askance. The general is a 
dark man, with golden-brown eyes, and hair parted in the 
middle. He came forward and looked at me a few seconds. I, 
remembering that this young man commanded the army of the 
Moselle, felt troubled ; but suddenly he extended his hand to 
me, and said, ‘ Doctor Wagner, I thank you for what you hav« 
done for Madame Ther^jse ; you are a good-hearted man.’ 


274 


MADAME THERESE. 

“Then he led me to the table on which a map wiu 
«pread out, and made various inquiries about the country, 
BO intelligently, that one would have thought he knew 
more about it than I. I naturally replied, the others lis- 
tening in silence. Finally he said: ‘Doctor Wagner, I 
cannot propose to you to serve in the armies of the 
Republic ; your nationality prevents that ; but the first 
battalion of the second brigade has just lost its chief sur- 
geon; the service of our ambulances is now incomplete ; 
we have only young men to care for the wounded — I con- 
fide this post of honor to you — humanity knows no country ! 
Here is your commission.’ He wrote some words at the 
end of the table, and then took my hand again, saying : 
‘ Doctor, believe that I esteem you !’ Then I went away. 

“Madame The'rese awaited me outside; you can con- 
ceive her joy, when she heard that I was to have charge 
of the ambulance department of the battalion. 

“We expected to remain at Pirmasens until spring, and 
the barracks were being built, when on the next night 
but one, about ten o’clock, we suddenly received orders 
to march, without putting out the fires, without making 
any noise, without beating the drums or sounding the 
trumpet. All Pirmasens was asleep. I had two horses, 
riding one, and leading the other, and was in the midst 
of officers near Colonel Duch^ne, 

“We left, some on horseback, others on foot, cannon 
wagons, ambulances in our midst, flanked by the cavalry, 
with no moon nor anything to guide us. Only from time 
to time a horseman would cry at the turning of the road 
‘This way!— this way!’ Toward eleven the moon cams 


MABAME THERESE. 


275 


out ; we were in the midst of the mountains ; all the 
peaks we:e white with snow. The foot soldiers, with theii 
guns on their shoulders, ran to warm themselves. Two 
or three times I was obliged to dismount, I was so be- 
numbed. Madame Th^r^se, in her cart, covered with gray 
cloth, handed me the bottle, and the captains were always 
on hand to receive it after me ; more than one soldier, 
also, had his turn. 

“But we went on, on, without stopping, so that about 
six o’clock, when the pale sun began to brighten the sky, 
we had reached Lembach, under the great wooded de- 
clivity of Steinfelz, three quarters of a league 'from Woerth. 
Then was heard on all sides, the command, ‘ Halt ! halt !’ 
Those in the rear were constantly coming ; at half-past 
six all the army was reunited in a valley, and set to 
work to make soup. 

“ General Hoche, whom I saw pass with his two tall 
members of the Convention, was laughing ; he seemed in 
a good humor. He went into the last house in the vil- 
lage. The people were as astonished to see us at that 
hour, as those in Anstatt were at the arrival of the Ke- 
publicans. The houses here are so small and miserable, 
that it was necessary to take two tables out of doors, and 
the general held his council with the officers in the open 
air, while the troops cooked the provisions they had 
brought. This halt lasted only long enough for us to eat, and 
buckle on our knapsacks again. Then we resumed our 
march in better order. At eight o’clock, on coming out 
of the valley of Keichshofen, we saw the Prussians in- 
trenched on the heights of Froesch wilier and Wcertli. 


276 


MABAME THBRESE. 


They were more than twenty thousand strong, and iheu 
redoubts rose one above the other. 

“All our army understood that we had marched sc 
quickly in order to surprise the Prussians alone, for the 
Austrians were four or five leagues from there, on the 
line of the Hotter. But I cannot conceal from you, 
my dear friends, that this sight gave me, at first, a ter- 
rible shock. The more I saw, the more impossible it 
seemed to me that we should gain the battle. In the first 
place, they were more numerous than we ; then they had 
dug ditches intrenched with palisades, and behind them 
one could easily see the gunners, who were leaning over 
their cannon and watching us, while files of innumerable 
bayonets stretched clear up the side of the hill. 

“The French, with their careless natures, saw nothing 
of this, and even seemed very joyous. The report was 
spread that General Hoche had just promised six hundred 
francs for every piece taken from the enemy ; they were 
laughing, putting their hats on one side, looking at the 
cannons, and shouting — ‘ Going ! Gone !’ It made one 
shiver to see such indifference, and hear these pleasant- 
ries. The rest of us, the ambulances, the vehicles of all 
sorts, the empty wagons for transporting the wounded, 
remained in the rear ; and to teU the truth, that gave me 
real pleasure. Madame Thdr^se was thirty or forty steps 
in advance of me ; I placed myself near her with my twc 
aids, one of whom had been an apothecary boy at Lan. 
drccies, and the other a dentist ; they made themselves 
surgeons. But they already have inuch experience, and 
with a little leisure and pains, these young men v,dll 


271 


MADAME THEHESE. 

perhaps become something. Madame Therese then kissed 
little Jean, who was running to join the battalion. Tho 
whole valley, right and left, was filled with cavalry in good 
order. General Hoche, on his arrival, at once placed two 
batteries on the hills of Reichshofen, and the infantry 
halted in the middle of the valley. There was another 
consultation, then aU the infantry ranged themselves in 
three columns ; one passed on the left into the gorge of 
Re'ebach, the other two marched on the intrenchments, 
with bayonets fixed. General Hoche, with some ofi&cers, 
stationed himself on a little elevation to the left of the 
valley. 

“ What followed, my dear friends, seems to me like a 
dream. At the moment when the columns reached tho 
foot of the hiU, a horrible crash, a kind of frightful 
tearing sound was heard ; everything was covered with 
smoke ; the Prussians had just discharged their cannon. 
A second afterward, as the smoke cleared away a little, we 
saw the French higher up the slope ; they were slacken- 
ing their speed, numbers of wounded were left behind, 
some stretched on their faces, others seated, and trying 
to rise. 

“The Prussians fired the second time; — then was 
hoard the terrible cry of the Republicans, ‘ To the bayonet T 
And all the mountain sparkled like firebrands when ojie 
stirs them up with his foot. We saw no more, because the 
wind blew the smoke toward us, nor could we hear a word 
at four feet distance, so loud was the firing — men and 
cannon thundering and roaring together. Our cavalry horses 
on the hills neighed, and tried to rush into the fight 


278 


MADAME THERESE. 


The^e animals are truly savage ; they love danger ; it waa 
with great difficulty that they could be restrained. Occasion- 
ally there was an opening in the smoke, and we could see 
the Eepublicans climbing the palisades like ants upon an ant- 
hill; some with the butt-end of their guns trying to break 
down the intrenchments, others seeking a passage ; the 
colonels on horseback, their swords upraised, urged on 
their men, and on the other side the Prussians thrust 
forward their bayonets, and fired their guns into the heap 
of bodies, or raised their great cannon - rammers like 
clubs to beat down the men. It was frightful ! A moment 
after, another gust of wind covered everything with smoke, 
and none could know how the struggle would end. 

“General Hoche sent his officers, one after another, to 
take new orders ; they rushed through the smoke like the 
wind ; one would have thought them shadows. But the 
battle continued, and the Eepublicans were beginning to 
recoil, when the general himself came down at fuU gallop. 
Ten minutes afterward the song of the Marseillaise rose 
above all the tumult, and those who had retreated, re- 
turned to the charge. The second attack began more 
furiously than the first. The cannon alone stiU thundered, 
and struck down files of men. All the Eepublicans ad- 
vanced en masse, Hoche in their midst. Our batteries, 
top, fired on the Prussians. It is impossible to describe 
what happened when the French were once near the 
palisades. K Father Adam Schmitt had been with us he 
would have seen what may be called a terrible battle 
The Prussians showed themselves soldiers of the grea/ 
Frederick ; bayonets against bayonets, — sometimes one 


MALAME THilRESE, 


275 


party, sometimes the other was driven back, oi rushed 
forward. 

“But what decided the victory for the Kepublicans, was 
the arrival of their third column on the heights, on the 
left of the intrenchments. It had turned the Be'ebach, and 
came out from the forest double quick. Then the Prus- 
sians were obhged to give up the struggle ; attacked on 
both sides they retreated, leaving eighteen pieces of can- 
non, twenty-four wagons, and their intrenchments filled 
with the dead and wounded. They went toward Woerth, 
and our hussars, beside themselves with impatience, start- 
ed at last, bending forward on their saddles. We learned 
that night that they had taken twelve hundred prisoners, 
and six pieces of cannon. 

“This, my dear Mends, was the battle of Woerth and 
Froeschwiller, the news of which must have reached you 
already. It will ever remain present to my mind. Since 
that, I have seen nothing new. But what work we have 
had ! We have had to amputate, to extract balls ; our 
ambulances are loaded with the wounded. It is very sad. 

“Nevertheless, the day after the battle, the army moved 
forward. Four days afterward we were told that the 
members Lacoste and Baudot, being convinced that the 
rivalry between Hoche and Pichegru was injurious to the 
interests of the Kepublic, had given the command entirely 
to Hoche, and that he, finding himself at the head of 
the armies of the Bhine and MoseUe, without losing a 
moment, had profited by it to attack Wurmsor on the 
road to Wissembourg, and that we had completely routed 
him at Geisberg, so that now the Prussians are retreating 


280 


MADAME THERESE. 


to Mayence, the Austrians to Gemersheim, and thr terri 
tory of the Repubhc is relieved of aU its enemies. 

“As for me, I am now at Wissembourg overwhelmed 
with work ; Madame Thdr^se and little Jean, and the rem* 
nant of the first battalion, occupy the place, and the 
army is on the march to Landau, the happy deliverance 
of which will be the admiration of future ages. Soon, 
soon, dear friends, we will foUow the army, we wiU pass 
thi’ough Anstatt, crowned with the palms of victory. We 
shall again press you to our hearts, and celebrate with 
you the triumph of justice and liberty. Oh dear liberty ! 
^ rekindle in our souls the sacred fire which formerly burned 
in the breasts of so many heroes. Create among us gen- 
erations which may resemble them, that the heart of 
every citizen may leap at thy voice. Inspire the wise who 
plan ; lead the courageous to heroic actions ; animate 
the soldiers with a sublime enthusiasm ; may despots who 
divide nations for the sake of oppressing them, disappear 
from the world, and may the sacred bond of brotherhood 
reunite all the peoples of the earth in one family ! 

“With these wishes, and these hopes, the good Madame 
The'r^se, httle Jean and I, embrace you with all our 
hearts. 

“Jacob Wagner. 

“P. S. — Little Jean begs his friend Fritzel to take good 
care of Scipio.” 

Uncle Jacob’s letter fiUed us all with joy, and 
after that you may imagine with what impatience 


MADAME THERESE, 


281 


we awaited tlie arrival of the first battalion. 
This epoch of my life, when I think of it, 
seems to me like a fete ; every day we learned 
something new ; after the occupation of Wissem 
bourg came the raising of the siege of Landau, then 
the capture of Lauterbourg, then that of Kaisers- 
lautern, and the occupation of Spire, where the 
French collected great spoils, which Hoche caused 
to be carried to Landau to indemnify the inhabitants 
for their losses. 

The people of the village now held us in re- 
spect as much as they had formerly abused 
us. It was even a question with them whether 
they should not put Koffel in the town council, 
and appoint the mole-catcher burgomaster — no one 
knew why, for nobody had such an idea until 
then. But the report was spread that we were 
going to become Frenchmen again ; we had been 
French fifteen hundred years before, and it was 
abominable that we had so long allowed our- 
selves to be held in slavery. Richter had taken 
flight, knowing very well what he might expect, 
and Spick no longer left his house. Every day 
the people on the main street looked toward the 
mountain to watch for the tme defenders of 
their country. Unfortunately tlie greater part of 


282 


MADAME THERESE. 


the army had taken the road from Wissembourg 
to Mayence, leaving Anstatt on their left in the 
mountains. We saw stragglers pass who were 
taking the short road through the Burgerwald. 
We were much troubled, and were beginning to 
think that our battalion would never come, when 
one day the mole-catcher rushed in, breathless, 
crying : 

“ Here they are ! Here they are !” 

He was returning from the fields with his spade 
on his shoulder, and had seen a troop of sol- 
diers in the distance. The whole village had al- 
ready heard the news, and came into the street. 
I, beside myself with enthusiasm, ran to meet the 
battalion, with Hans Aden and Frantz Sepel, whom 
I met on the road. The sun was shining, the 
snow was melting, the mud splashed round us like 
grape-shot, but we did not mind it, and ran for 
half an hour without stopping. Half the village, 
men, women, and children, followed us, shouting: 

“They’re coming! They’re coming!” 

People’s ideas changed in a singular manner, 
—everybody was then a friend to the Kepublic. 
Once on the side of the Birkenwald, Hans, 
Frantz, and I at last saw our battalion marching 
up the declivity, their knaf>sacks on their backs 


MADAME THERt:SE. 


283 


their guns on their shoulders, the officers behind 
their companies. Farther off the wagons were 
defiling over the great bridge. They all came on, 
whistling, talking, as soldiers do on the march. 
One stopped to hght his pipe, another gave a shrug 
of his shoulder to raise his knapsack. We could 
hear gay voices and shouts of laughter, for the 
French when they march always tell stories and 
make funny speeches, to keep up their spirits. 

In this crowd my eyes sought only Uncle Jacob 
and Madame Therese. It was some time before I 
discovered them, in the rear of the battalion. 
My uncle was riding Kappel. I hardly recog- 
nized him at first, for he wore a large Republi- 
can hat, a coat with red lappels, and a great 
sword in an iron scabbard. This costume changed 
him wonderfully, and made him seem much taller ; 
but I knew him, notwithstanding, and Madame 
Therese also, in her cart covered with cloth, in 
The same hat and cravat in which I first saw 
her. She had rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. My 
uncle rode near her, and they were talking togeth- 
er. I recognized Httle Jean, also, whom I had seen 
only once. He -was marching; a large belt 
adornel with drum-sticks crossed his breast, liis 
arms were covered with lace, and his sword dan- 


MADAME THERESE. 


2U 

gled behind. And the Colonel, Sergeant Laflecho, 
and the captain to whom I had shown the way into 
our garret, and all the soldiers, — ^j^es, nearly all, 
— I recognized ; they seemed to me to be one 
great family. It gave me pleasure to see the flag 
covered with oil-cloth, too. I ran through the 
crowd. Hans Aden and Frantz S^el had already 
found comrades, — ^but I ran on, and as I came near 
the cart, was going to say, “ Uncle ! Uncle !” 
when Madame Therese, happening to bend for- 
ward, exclaimed, joyfully : 

“ Here’s Scipio !” 

And at that moment, Scipio, whom I had for- 
gotten and left at home, sprang into the cart, aU 
bewildered and muddy. Little Jean immediately 
cried : 

“ Scipio !” 

And the good dog, after passing his great 
moustache two or three times over Madame The- 
rese’s face, sprang to the ground and began to 
leap about Jean, barking, uttering cries, and 
acting as if he wore wild with dehght. AU the 
battalion called ; 

“ Here, Scipio I Scipio I” 

My uncle had just seen me, and held out 
his arms to me from his horse. I seized his 


MADAME m^BESE. 


285 


kig ; lie raised and kissed me. I saw that ha 
was weeping, and that made me cry. He held 
me toward Madame Therese, who took me in 
her cart, saying : 

‘‘ Good-day, Fritzel.” 

She seemed very happy, and kissed me with 
tears in her eyes. 

Very soon the mole-catcher and Koffel came up 
and grasped my uncle’s hand ; then other peo- 
ple from the village, mixing, pell-mell, with the 
soldiers, who gave the men their knapsacks and 
guns to carry in triumph, and cried to the wo- 
men — 

“ Hey, good mother with your pretty daughtei ! 
this way — this way!” 

There was great confusion; everybody frater- 
nized, and in the midst of all, httle Jean and I 
knew not which was the happiest. 

“Kiss little Jean,” cried Uncle Jacob. 

“Kiss Fritzel,” said Madame Therese. 

And we embraced, looking at each other in be- 
wildered delight. 

“ 11 me plait cried little Jean, “iZ a Vair bon 

enifantr 

“ Toi, tu me plais aussi” said I, very proud oi 
speaking French. 


280 


MADAME THERESE. 




And we walked along arm-in-arm, while Uncle 
Jacob and Madame Therese looked at each other 
and smiled. 

The Colonel, also, gave me his hand, saying : 

“ Ha ! Dr. Wagner, here’s your defender. You’re 
quite well, my brave fellow ?” 

“Yes, Colonel.” 

“ So much the better !” 

In this manner we reached the first houses of 
the village. Then we stopped a few minutes 
to get in order. Little Jean hung his drum 
over his shoulder, and as the commander cried 
“Forward! March!” the drums sounded. 

We marched down the main street in regular 
order, dehghted at making so unposing an en- 
trance. All the old men and women who could 
not get out, were at their windows, and pointed 
to Uncle Jacob, who advanced with a dignified 
air behind the Colonel, between his two assis- 
tants. I noticed Father Schmitt particularly, 
standing at his door ; he straightened up his tall, 
bent figure, and watched us fihng past, with 
sparkling eyes. 

At the square with the fountain the Colonel 
cried : 


“ Halt I’ 


MADAME THERESE. 


287 


Tliey stacked their guns, and all disperstid, 
right and left. Each citizen wished to have a 
soldier ; all wanted to rejoice in the triumph of 
the Republic, •“ one and indivisible.” But these 
Frenchmen, with their cheerful faces, preferred to 
follow the pretty girls. The Colonel went with 
us. Old Lisbeth was already at the door, her 
hands raised to heaven, and cried : 

“ Ah Madame Therese ! — ah monsieur le doc- 
teurr 

There were fresh cries of joy, fresh embraces. 

Then we went in, and the feast of ham, chit- 
terlings, and broiled meat, with white wine and 
old Burgundy to drink, began ; Koftel, the mole- 
catcher, the Colonel, little Jean and I, — leave 
you to imagine the table, the appetites, the sat- 
isfaction ! 

■ All that day the first battalion remained with 
us ; then they were obliged to pursue their 
march, for their winter quarters were at Hacmatt, 
two short leagues from Anstatt. My uncle staid 
in the village. He laid aside his great sword 
and large hat ; but from that time until spring not a 
day passed that he did not go to Hacmatt; he 
thought of nothing but Hacmatt. 

Madame Therese came to see us occasionally 


MADAME THtRESE. 


'2S^ 


with little Jean. We laughed, w^e were happy 
and we loved each other ! 

What more shall I sa}' ? In the spiing, when 
the lark began to sing, we heard one day that 
the first battalion was going to leave for La 
Vendee. Then my uncie, very pale, ran to the 
stable, and mounted Kappel ; he rode off at full 
speed, bareheaded, having forgotten to put on 
liis cap. 

AVhat passed at Hacmatt? I know nothing 
about it. But what I am sure of is that the 
next day my micle returned, as proud as a king, 
with Madame Therese and Httle Jean ; that there 
was a great feast at our house, kisses and re- 
joicing. 

Eight days afterward Colonel Duchene ar- 
rived with aU the captains of the battahon. That 
day there were stiU greater rejoicings. Madame 
Therese and Uncle Jacob went to the mayoralty, 
followed by a long procession of joyous guests. 
The mole-catcher, who had been chosen burgo- 
master by popular vote, awaited us in his tri- 
colored scarf. He entered my uncle’s and Ma- 
dame Therese’s names in a thick register, to 
everybody’s satisfaction. And from that time 
little Jean had a father, and I had a good 


MADAME TIIERESE. 


280 


mother, whose memory I cannot recall without 
shedding tears. 

There are many more things I should like to 
tell you — but this is enough for one time. If 
the good God permits, we will one day continue 
this story, which ends, — like all others, — with 
white hairs, and the last adieus, of those whom 
we love best in the world. 








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